A Path Out of the Dark
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: After a horrible accident, Clara wakes to find fifteen years of her memories have been wiped away and a 'stranger' named the Doctor may hold the key to regaining them. (AU, Whouffle, TW: Amputation, Miscarriage)
1. Chapter 1

Staring out a window that overlooked a hillside, made pink by the sunset, the Doctor remembered a time when he'd found himself hurriedly climbing a similar surface with Clara. Running from goat-like people who misunderstood their intentions and though they were trying to murder them for their meat. _One bad joke_, he'd explained to Clara, _one bad joke and you're gripping a cliff hoping not to fall to your death_.

He turned to look at her, lying in the hospital bed a few feet away, breathing calmly, head wrapped in white bandages to match those covering her right arm and he sighed. All of the dangers of the universe and she'd gotten into an accident on Earth. Of course he'd warned her not to drive the bike too quickly; he warned her that maybe the bike was too big for her to handle; he'd warned her that maybe it was time for her to start using a different mode of transport – just for a while – and, of course, she'd scoffed at him.

_ "__You just think, because I'm a girl…"_

_ "__No, no, it's not that at all – I just worry…"_

_ "__Don't worry, Doctor, I can handle your motorbike just fine."_

For a very long time, she had. She'd taken it to work and rode it into the Tardis without so much as a flinch of fear and he admired it because when she hopped off the motorbike he was left pondering just how she managed to ride it at all. She really was too short for it, but she'd kiss him lightly and he'd forget his concern. He should never have let her get comfortable – should constantly have been warning her to watch out for other drivers who had less interest in watching out for her.

He should have taken the keys as soon as they knew…

The door opened slowly and the Doctor nodded to Dave, who immediately went to sit on the chair pressed against the side of the bed with one glance over Clara before his eyes were on the newspaper he picked up, taking a sip of the coffee he'd gone out to get. The man glanced up at him and told him quietly, "You could go for a bit, rest your eyes."

Shaking his head, the Doctor leaned against the wall and admitted, "I don't sleep very much, Dave."

The man smiled, "I know it's frustrating, waiting for her to wake up, but I'll be here – you should go, I'm sure you have other things to atten…"

"No, you don't understand," the Doctor told him firmly, "I'm not leaving her side."

His lips dropping, Dave nodded considerately, curiously, and went back to reading his paper and when Clara finally did start to wake, the man was resting comfortably on a couch in a corner. Moving quickly to her side, the Doctor watched her eyelids blink open before she tried to assess the room around her, finding him and giving him a small grin before asking, "Are you my doctor?"

Footsteps faltering, he nodded slowly as he passed a glance towards Dave and then swallowed hard, asking Clara, "Do you remember me?"

She laughed lightly and responded, "Not really, have I been here long?"

His eyes closed as his hearts pumped faster. "Clara, you took quite a spill off your motorbike… you may be experiencing temporary amnesia. "

"I don't own a motorbike," she replied softly, a twinge of fear in her voice as she looked to her father, "Haven't even been taught how to drive – is mum here?" She glanced back at him, "I'd really like to see my mum."

Hand coming up to his face, he wiped over his features, trying not to show just how distraught he felt and he nodded to her, asking delicately, "Clara, what's the last thing you remember?"

She thought a moment, struggling against the effort and wincing when she tried to move the leg held upright on a sling with pins. "Mum trying to teach me her soufflé recipe again," Clara replied, instantly brightening before looking down at her arm and then sadly to her leg, "How bad is it? I mean, school…" she trailed, looking anxious as she considered it.

Coughing away a sob, the Doctor told her honestly, "Arm's been rubbed raw from wrist to elbow; your leg was crushed under the weight of the motorbike…"

"I don't own a bike," Clara reminded, glancing up at him with a weak smile, something like understanding starting to dawn on her – _something was very wrong_.

Trying to grin, he just frowned as he repeated, "You've lost a few memories."

She nodded, accepting the information before telling him feebly, "Hopefully some bad ones."

He smiled with her and then stepped closer to look her over, his tears falling despite his effort to control them and he could see on her face that she was becoming somewhat uncomfortable with the situation. She eyed him suspiciously and he turned away a moment, hating that she looked at him as though he were a stranger despite the years they'd travelled together.

"Are you really my doctor?" Clara asked him pointedly.

He laughed, nodding, "I am _your Doctor_."

Clara grinned and shifted her head sideways, gesturing at him, "You're not wearing a coat, nor a name tag – you could be the janitor for all I know."

Bending slightly in acknowledgement, he assured, "I'm not your medical doctor, but I am your Doctor – that's my name. Like I said, bit of amnesia; it'll come back to you." He tried to smile, but she was shifting away from him, looking to her father. Raising a hand slightly, he offered, "Sorry, I don't mean to frighten you. We're… we're _friends_, you've just _forgotten_."

"Your name is Doctor?" She asked quietly as he nodded. "What sort of a name is that?"

Rubbing his forehead, he laughed, "The name of a fool, I suppose. A fool unable to keep you out of harm's way." He glanced down as he realized he was absently turning the golden band on his ring finger and when he looked up, she was doing the same, fingers slipping over pale skin as she looked him over.

Clara licked her lips and followed his gaze, wrapping her hands once before settling them on her abdomen, eyes wandering blankly to a spot on the wall as she admitted, "I feel like something's missing."

The Doctor couldn't control the single sob that escaped him, earning him her attention again as he sat beside her and reached out for her hands, clasping them within his own and not daring to meet her eyes, afraid of what he would find there. The lack of the recognition and adoration he'd grown too accustomed to seeing. And he could feel her fingers hanging limp in his, _so unlike her_, and he muttered, "Something is, Clara. Something definitely is."

After a moment she tugged her hands away, looking down at them as though he'd stained them, and she nodded slowly as he lifted his eyes to her, asking quietly, "Can you wake my father?"

He slipped off the bed, replying in kind, "Of course, Clara," and he moved sluggishly towards the man, crouching in front of him and giving his shoulder a small shake, lifting a finger when the man's eyes flashed open. With a frown, he explained, "She's awake, but she's experiencing amnesia."

"What do you mean, amnesia?" Dave argued, shifting to sit up.

Holding him firmly in place as his eyes darted to the woman in the bed brightly looking in his direction, the Doctor warned, "She believes her mother's still alive."

Dave's eyes drifted to meet his and he swallowed hard, head bowed before pushing past the Doctor's hold to stand, looking again to Clara to call, "Good morning, sweetheart."

The Doctor turned and landed in the couch with an exhale, fingers coming up to rub at his head as he listened to Dave's footsteps make their way to her bed. He knew what the man was thinking – aside from having to explain her accident, he would now have to explain her mother's death, would have to explain how life had gone on without her, and somehow, would have to explain that Clara was a thirty year old woman with a job and a life and a husband sitting a few feet away. Temporarily, the Doctor hoped, erased from her memory.

"Dad, what's happened?" Clara asked and the question came as a blow to the Doctor's chest because he'd already explained and he knew it wasn't the amnesia asking, it was her distrust of a man she didn't recognize.

Dave offered a small laugh and he sniffled, reaching out to take his daughter's hand, finger stroking over the scratches on her knuckles gently before he nodded, "Car swerved into your lane a bit too quick for you. You fell off your motorbike."

"I don't have a motorbike," she replied lightly, a hint of laughter in her voice. "Dad, _I don't have a motorbike_, I could barely master a bicycle." There was a pause and then she asked firmly, "What really happened?"

The Doctor raised his eyes to watch Dave look to the ceiling, body giving a small hop as he tried to control his tears knowing the Doctor had been right and his daughter needed the truth. "You were on your way to work…"

Clara laughed, wincing slightly as she straightened to argue, "Dad, I don't have a job – you and mum said I had to concentrate on _schooling_."

He shook his head and continued as Clara's mouth fell open. "You were on your way to work and a woman in too much of a hurry cut you off."

"Dad," Clara barked.

"You fell over. Skidded a few feet – _thank God you were going speed limit_ – and the bike crushed your leg. Pavement worked your arm into a bloody mess and you went unconscious when you hit a..."

"This is insane," Clara argued, pulling her hand away from him in disgust, "I want to talk to mum."

"Clara," he called firmly, watching her eyes watering over before he told her, "If you hadn't had a helmet on, we'd have lost you _and_…" he stopped, looking her over before turning to the Doctor as he stood, shaking his head and staring into the other man. Dave swiftly shifted back to look at his daughter, eyes red as he clenched his jaw and touched Clara's cheek, "Honey, you're fine, you're ok – your memory's just _gone_ a bit."

"What do you mean _gone_?" She shook her head and the Doctor could see from across the room, she was on the verge of tears, seeing the years on her father's face before she asked weakly, "Can I talk to mum? Dad, _where's mum_?"

Dave bent and touched his head to hers and the Doctor braced himself, hands gripping onto one another just before she released a long and shaky, "_No_," and then dissolved into wretched sobs as Dave pulled her close to hold her.

The Doctor closed his eyes, listening to her crying and he felt his own cheeks wet with fallen tears knowing how much the loss of her mother had hurt her, even residually, years later. The past few months she'd been thinking about her more often and he'd been there when she'd broken down over how she wasn't ever going to be around anymore. He was so lost in that memory he inhaled sharply when Dave's fingers gave his shoulder a light squeeze and when he glanced over, he saw Dave staring into him before he nodded to the door, telling him, "Hallway, Doctor?"

With a frown, he followed, refusing to look at the woman still wrecked with tears as they stepped through the doorway and closed it behind them. He took a long breath and watched Dave stand firmly in the space in front of him, hands twisting into one another before they planted at his hips and then fell flat against his body anxiously. "Don't tell her," he offered.

"She should know – _she's going to find out_," Dave hissed.

Looking towards the door, the Doctor pointed, "She's just lost her mother. _Again_. Her life is about to get turned completely upside-down, Dave." He dropped his head and when he raised it, his voice softened to repeat, "Don't tell her; not just yet."

Dave bit his lip, just like Clara would have, and the Doctor turned towards the door, hand reaching out for the knob before the man muttered, "They said it was a girl." He huffed a laugh. "Would have been a girl; she would have loved that."

The Doctor gripped the doorknob tightly in his hand, feeling the air leave his lungs painfully before he nodded in acknowledgment and told him plainly, "We knew."


	2. Chapter 2

Clara would need therapy. It was the only thing they could agree on; it was the only thing they could smile about because they knew with time and a little help, she would slowly come around. Her mind was questionable, everyone told them, but her body would heal. Every bit of it would heal and when it did, she would be strong enough to know the whole truth. A whole truth the Doctor understood would break her heart.

She'd just decided on a name, a name she was going to tell him when she returned to the Tardis and he'd been so excited to find out. To know what they'd call their baby girl; what name he'd get to enter into the Tardis mainframe to ensure it was peppered throughout her nursery. The Doctor had just begun working on it, giving it pastel purple and teal walls, pale curtains with butterflies around fake windows through which he'd project different landscapes because he wanted his daughter to see the universe. He wanted her to dream of far off places before she could name them and he wanted her to know of the wonders of the life.

_Of the life she should have had_.

He stepped into the hospital room with a bouquet of roses and watched her offer him the quick passing of a smile across her lips as she picked at the bandages on her right arm before telling him, "My father's gone down to the cafeteria to eat lunch on my insistence."

He was pleased to see the vacant stare he'd left her with the night before had been filled with a sort of hesitant curiosity, but he could see the dark circles underneath her eyes – knew she hadn't slept. She'd told him before, how her mother's death had affected her. Clara had nightmares for months and she'd wake, reaching out for a worn book on her shelf to replay memories in her mind to soothe it. He imagined she was in for the same fate now, except this time she was restrained to the bed by a leg anchored together just below her knee in an orchestra of metal and gauze a nurse had to examine every few hours.

"That's good," he told her anxiously.

She tilted her head to lament, "You don't get along very well, do you."

The Doctor supposed before the accident they had gotten along alright; they'd just avoided one another – or, rather, he'd avoided Dave. He understood that to this other man, the Doctor had stolen his daughter, taken her off to the stars and made it impossible for her to look at normality the same ever again. Now he was the man who handed her the keys to a machine she should have stopped riding as soon as she'd found out she was pregnant; a machine he should have refused to let her take as soon as he could see the bump of her belly stretching the fabric of her dresses outward.

Gesturing at himself as he moved closer, he asked, "Me and your father?"

"No," she laughed, "Of course you and my father." She shrugged and grinned, "So you and my dad don't get along; you were here when I woke; and you're bringing me flowers to cheer me up. What are we, you and I?"

The Doctor moved to her bedside and plucked a set of half-dead red roses out to deposit them in the trash bin while replacing them with the new set and he grinned at her, watching her grin back. There was a devious look in her eyes, one he'd gotten used to and normally he would kiss her and ask her what was on her mind, but he knew that was a delicate gesture during a delicate time, so he took a step back.

"Are we married?" Clara asked boldly, then he watched her uninjured hand come up to cover her mouth as she giggled and he realized – fifteen year old Clara would find the thought of marriage amusing. But the chuckles slowed as she watched him stand there solemnly and she nodded. "We're _married_."

The words were almost sad and he exhaled his sorrow before lifting his left hand to display the ring on his finger before glancing to the bedside table and pulling open a drawer, rummaging through a few of her belongings – her clutch, the keys to her homes (her flat _and_ the Tardis), the worn copy of _Much Ado About Nothing_ that had been tucked into the leather jacket she wore, and finally, in a small plastic bag, amongst a golden necklace, a matching bracelet, and two other rings, sat her wedding ring.

The Doctor plucked the bag up, separating out the one ring against the plastic and he showed it to her with a small smile, tilting his head and telling her playfully, "I'm terribly sorry to inform you, Clara, but you're married to me."

"Dad says I'm thirty," she wrinkled her nose, "So, I _suppose_ this is the lesser offense."

"Oi," he scoffed, watching her smile widen before he handed her the bag to examine the contents. "We've been married two years, well…" he trailed, then chose not to mention the additional time they'd spent travelling together while time on Earth continued on its normal pace. In reality it'd been almost three years, and she was almost thirty one.

Clara let the ring slide into her palm and she eyed it, frowning at the circles and dots etched into it before glancing up at him to ask, "Does this mean something?" Then she added, "To us, does it mean something?"

He sighed, shifting to sit beside her to watch her slip the ring to her knuckle before it stopped. "Your hand is swollen," he gestured at the scratches and bruises. He could still remember how warm her hands had been when he first put that ring on her and the way she'd cried – joy he'd never seen that made his hearts swell proudly hoping she could see in his eyes that he felt the same. "And yes. _To us_ it means something – it will again one day."

Her eyes came up to his and he imagined he should have found some joke in them, the notions of a teen-aged girl thinking about her future husband, but there was a hopeful smile there. One he recognized, and for a moment he thought maybe she was remembering him, but she dropped the ring back into the bag and handed it to him with an almost imperceptible nod and his optimism deflated as she went back to picking at her bandages and staring at her fingers.

"So I married you," she finally sighed. Then she slowly added, "A gangly floppy haired idiot. You're not exactly my type."

The Doctor glanced up in time to catch her giggle and he relaxed, telling her, "Well, I always imagined I'd marry taller." He wanted to reach out and tap her head, but he clenched his hands instead, watching her feign insult before smiling in appreciation.

"I'll have you know, my height is an advantage," she teased with a small bop of her head.

"Is it?" The Doctor prompted, straightening.

She only smiled.

He sighed as he watched her. Her cheeks had gone red, a stark contrast to the colorless skin around them. There were a set of rough scratches at her chin and he could see the edge of the already healing cut over her right eye peeking out from just underneath the bandages. She would have a scar there, where the helmet had taken the majority of her final collision with a concrete barrier and had broken in half. He looked into her dark eyes as they stared back at him and he imagined she was studying him the way he studied her except where he knew the length of her dimple and the placement of a mole and the way the edges of her eyes wrinkled when she smiled completely, Clara's memory had been wiped of him.

Her eyes roamed over his forehead and smirked at his brow before finding his lips, lips he involuntarily licked, longing to cover her precious face in kisses and knowing he would only frighten her. The Doctor knew she could see his love for her in the way he gazed with a sigh and after a moment she looked away and he turned his head, murmuring with a wave of his hand, "I'm sorry."

"No," she said quickly with a nervous grin, "_I'm_ sorry – you know me more than I know you right now." Her laugh was shy and it tapered as she allowed, "I've just never had someone look at me like that before."

_You did_, he thought to himself, _every day you did_.

Reaching out, he waited until she offered her hand and his thumb moved over her scraped knuckles, avoiding the IV insertion point, and he kissed her fingers before laying them gently on her thigh. "You're right – I know you more than you know me right now and for a while, that might be best."

Clara frowned, watching him as he exhaled and she asked, "Wouldn't it be better if I knew more? I could ask you questions, I mean – like how did we meet? Where do we live? Are we…" she trailed and then finished, "Happy?"

The Doctor smiled, hearing the door creek open behind him and he knew Dave was standing there and he carefully considered his words, knowing there was little he could say at that point. She'd think him mad if he explained he met her after she'd died twice – once in the future and once in the past – and she'd definitely think him insane if he explained that they spread their time between her home on Earth and his Tardis across time and space. Watching the look of wonder that was now dancing in her eyes, an excitement at knowing she had a husband she yearned to learn about, the Doctor offered a wide smile and a laugh and then he narrowed his eyes at her.

"We were _magnificent_," he allowed, "We were an adventure that's ongoing and this, Clara, this is the next part of that adventure."

Pointing, Clara replied coyly, "You're avoiding my questions."

He smirked and stood and gave Dave a small nod of acknowledgement before turning back to Clara to raise a finger while lowering his brow to tease, "That's part of the adventure."

"I _think_ I like you, Doctor," Clara allowed.

He watched the smile that glowed on her face and for a moment he forgot the man standing next to him as he continued to gaze upon her, seeing the way she continued to fiddle nervously with her hands in her lap while refusing to look away – some sort of staring game. He used to imagine she could read his mind when she held his eyes; she could reach into his thoughts and she could understand everything he couldn't, or wouldn't, say. Now he took a step towards her and he bowed his head slightly, listening to her light laugh knowing she'd won and when he raised his eyes again, looking up from under a flop of thick hair, he watched her wide smile dim to a knowing smirk.

"What am I thinking, Clara?" He began with a nod, "Right now, this instance."

He listened as Dave exhaled behind him and he knew why – there was a look in her eyes, despite the bandage on her head and her arm, and the pins in her leg they both knew had to be painful. It was a look the Doctor had seen a million times, but Dave hadn't. At least he hadn't seen it in his daughter's eyes; he'd seen it in his wife's, when she'd looked at him.

Clara tilted her head just as the Doctor came to a stop next to her bed, hands planting themselves on the metal railing just beside her shoulder to lean his chin into as he watched her look him over, resisting the temptation to bop her nose and kiss her forehead. Any other day and he would have, and any other day she might reach up to tug at his bow tie, or…

Lifting her bandaged arm with nary a flinch, she ran her stiff fingers through the hair over his eye, brushing it away and smiling when it fell back and Clara whispered, "You're thinking you _may_ just like me too."


	3. Chapter 3

Clara continually had to remind herself that she was a bit lost in time and every time she did, she did so with a pang of anxiety in her gut and a worried look to her father. In her head she was a fifteen year old girl who had plans to go to the mall that weekend with Nina and had just last month celebrated the fifth birthday of Angie Maitland, had just watched over her and her younger brother Artie on Tuesday night. That's how she had the twenty pounds in her pocket to shop, except she didn't. She had a pale green hospital gown and a growing ache in her right leg that didn't seem to subside no matter how much medication they added into the sack hanging at her side.

"Dad, can't they just inject it directly?" She prompted, earning her a look of concern.

It seemed that was the look permanently etched onto his face since she'd woken. Every question met with a quiet terror that left her wondering what she'd asked wrong. Glancing to the door, she imagined the Doctor would have an answer. He was just as worried, just as tormented by her situation as her father, but he hid it in a way that calmed her. The thought made her grin because despite her lack of memories – despite the fog that sat heavily in her head – she knew he was simply responding to her how he always had.

_Exactly how she needed_.

And, looking to her father, chewing nervously at his lip, what she needed was someone to tell her why her leg felt like it had caught fire and why the nurses exchanged glances when she mentioned it. "What's wrong with my leg?" Clara demanded, shaking her head when Dave hesitated, "Don't… _make something up_, I know it's broken, _crushed_, whatever, and I know how it happened, but what's wrong with it – because I know _something is wrong_."

"Clara," he said softly, "Let's not worry on the leg right now."

"Telling me not to worry," Clara began with a shaky voice she still hadn't gotten used to – too deep, too grown up to be her own, and yet it was – before finishing on a squeak, "Is making me worry."

Because in her mind she wouldn't be able to dance without the use of her leg and she knew the boys in school wouldn't take kindly to a wheelchair on dates and somehow she understood that's what was wrong. Aside from the fact that she wasn't in school anymore, she knew her leg would never be the same again – _she_ would never be the same again. Clara watched her father grab hold of the railing just beside her and he took a breath, exhaling slowly and his eyes closed. She knew, instantly, that what he had to tell her was horrible and for a moment she was angry he hadn't told her sooner.

"You keep telling me I'm a grown woman," Clara growled, "And you're treating me like a child."

"Because right now you are a child, Clara," he spat back in frustration. "_Your head_ – without your memories, you're _just_ fifteen, and I remember fifteen. Smart as a whip, but Clara, your mum kept you so _incredibly sheltered_. Filled your mind with all of this worldly knowledge and then kept you safe in her arms to watch it from inside of that bubble…"

"_Don't_ talk about mum like that," she interrupted.

His eyes pinched shut and he nodded, "I don't mean it _that_ way; not the way it sounds."

"_It sounds terrible_!" Clara croaked through tears she bit back. "Mum and I were going to travel the world, you know – after school. Take a year and travel everywhere…"

Dave's head dropped slightly with a smile and when he looked up, she was clenching her jaw, trying her best to control her emotions, but he knew Clara was broken on the inside over re-learning of her mother's death. The first time she'd refused to talk to him for days; she locked herself in her room and read and slept. Until he climbed in through her window and she saw him cry…

"You were, weren't you," he sighed, "She wanted to take you to America, to the Islands in the Caribbean where you agreed you'd be pirates for a day and steal something, then to Australia and Russia and China – just like that book of yours."

Clara laughed lightly, sniffling and bringing her left hand up to swipe at her eyes. "We'd started a list."

"I still have it," he replied quickly.

Frowning, Clara shook her head and asked, "I never went?" Because she was supposed to turn that list into a scrapbook and she was supposed to have it – _not him_.

Shifting on his feet, Dave shrugged, "You've travelled, just… not to the places on your list."

"Where have I gone?" Dave glanced to the door and back again and Clara asked delicately, because she knew he harbored resentment towards the Doctor, "I've travelled with _him_, haven't I?"

"I don't really know where you've gone," he admitted. "It's sort of whirlwind, what you've got with him – don't see you for days, sometimes weeks without a word. Too busy with work and… _marriage_."

Clara swallowed roughly and looked to the drawer next to her, the one that held a ring she tried on every night that still wouldn't slide over her swollen flesh. "You don't like him; is that why?"

Chuckling, Dave sat on the bed beside her, mindful of the leg he could see was still on her mind – her eyes had gone wide and her body had shifted forward as he sat in some attempt to silently keep him away from it – and he sighed, "It's not that I don't _like_ him, Clara. The Doctor's been nothing but wonderful to you. _For you_. It's just, losing my baby girl… I don't think any father is ever truly alright with it. And he can be dangerous," he finished, looking to the ground as she contemplated it.

"You blame him for the accident," she surmised.

He shifted to look at her, nodding slowly, "He should have kept you off that bike."

With a smile, Clara asked, "Do you really think he could have stopped me?"

A small laugh escaped his lips as he raised a hand to her bruised jaw, thumb running gently over her chin as he shook his head and admitted, "I suppose he couldn't have – _but he should have tried_."

His hand fell away and rejoined with his other on his lap as Clara simply watched, ignoring the sudden buzz of pins and needles shooting between her foot and her knee. She knew that as much as this was confusing for her, it was heartbreaking for him. There were fifteen years of lived time he knew about that she didn't and she could see that those fifteen years hadn't been the easiest.

If what he said were true, if what the Doctor said were true, she'd been married at twenty eight. Clara knew herself, she wouldn't marry quickly and she imagined the courtship and engagement would have been a few years, so she might have been _maybe_ twenty four or twenty five when she met him. She wished she could remember it, where they'd gone and what they'd done and how often they'd been travelling around and she put it on a growing list of things she had to ask about the Doctor.

They'd had conversations. Playful exchanges about ordinary things: her IV, her injuries, her Jell-o, the haircut she thought she needed, the bedpan he teased her about… but they'd discussed little about him. Clara smiled, thinking of the idiotic grin he offered when he entered the room and the way he excitedly told her about the nurse's station – as though he were unfamiliar with how a hospital worked. Everything about him made her curious and yet, they'd managed to avoid talking about _him_ for several days now.

He asked about her pain. _It's alright, lots of meds to help with that_.

He asked about her therapy. _Going well, being bent about awkwardly_.

He asked about her dreams. _Dream about mum, sometimes space, which is weird_.

The Doctor though, the Doctor was off limits and she looked to her father – if the man who was her husband was this much of a mystery to her, what was he to her father? What did the man know about him? She watched him fidget with his fingers and she asked him lightly, "How did I meet him?"

He smiled, "Isn't that a question for him?"

"Yes," she replied curtly with a smile, "But he's keeping mum about himself it seems. It's making me think there's a whole lot about my life he doesn't want me to know." Considering her words, Clara tilted her head slightly to ask, "Did I turn out to be a horrible person?"

"No, Clara," Dave told her, brow knotting tightly, "No, of course not Clara. You're wonderful. You're a brilliant teacher – the kids all love you – and you're an amazing person; go out of your way to help everyone," he laughed, words tapering off as he considered it and looked up to catch her frowning at her lap.

Picking at the bandage on her arm, Clara lowered her head to mutter, "Then why won't he talk about himself, or about our life together?"

Dave watched Clara shift in frustration, closing his eyes against the wince she gave as her leg moved within the sling and he sighed, "Sweetheart, it's complicated."

"Uncomplicate it," she growled. "Just tell me how I met him."

"You'll have to ask him."

"Do you not know?" Clara demanded.

He raised a hand, "Clara, you have to stay calm, alright? Everything is complicated right now. We've got to figure out how to give you back fifteen years of your life while trying to get you better."

With a small nod, she took a breath and when she spoke, it was frigid, "You want to give me back fifteen years of my life by not telling me anything about the last fifteen years of my life. You take him into the hallway where I can't follow and when you return you both look as though you've seen a ghost and then you won't talk to me. You want me to get better, but I don't know what's the matter – and I get the feeling it's more than a few bones and a few patches of skin and this crack in my head."

Dave stood at the bed, watching her turn away, to look out at the bright skies outside and he bit his lip before explaining, "We're doing the best we can, Clara."

She sighed, and then she asked calmly, "Dad, what's wrong with my leg?"

"Clara…"

"What's _wrong_ with _my leg_?" She repeated sternly.

He dropped onto the bed again beside her and reached out for her hand, taking it delicately in his as he looked over the bandage and then swung his vision to the wrapped half of her limb before looking back and admitting, "It's not healing the way it should." He swallowed roughly and watched her do the same, "Can you feel anything in it, Clara?"

She nodded, slowly, and admitted, "It's like static, pins and needles."

Releasing a breath, he offered a weak smile and told her carefully, "They might have to amputate your leg, Clara, to save your life."

Her jaw clenched tightly and her eyes drifted to the metal screws that disappeared into white gauze and slowly she blinked and told him with a smile, "Good then, _just a leg_ right?"

"Clara," he sighed, shaking his head.

But Clara pushed her lips together and told him, "A leg for my life – that sounds like a pretty fair trade, doesn't it, dad?"

He looked to the way she was still examining the swollen toes exposed just beyond the bandages, the shimmer of tears just beginning in her eyes and he raised her hand to kiss it before whispering, "They want to do it soon."

She nodded, "When it's over, how soon can I go home?" Turning she finished, "Because the leg's what was keeping me here, right? Therapy and recovery – if they just cut it off, how soon can I go home?"

Licking his lips, he shrugged and shook his head, "I don't know, Clara."

Clara looked to the door, avoiding her father's stare, and she wished the Doctor were there. She imagined that somehow he would have some different answer for her. The Doctor wouldn't watch her sadly, thinking about what she would be losing – he would be offering suggestions for what she would gain. A new appreciation for the leg that remained; the prosthetic leg she could decorate as she pleased or throw at him in an argument; a faster shower and shave. She smiled lightly, hearing his voice in her mind so clearly it made her heart thump and the monitor at her right beeped four times in quick succession twice.

And Clara had the strangest thought that, for just a moment, she had two hearts.


	4. Chapter 4

"Maybe it would be best if you didn't come by for a bit – let her heal, then we could reintroduce you to her proper like." There was an anxious twinge to the other man's voice as he stared at the Doctor, hand dropping away from the arm he'd caught him by just before he was going to enter the room, a fresh bouquet of red roses for Clara to replace the ones he'd brought the week before.

"We've been reintroduced, Dave," the Doctor laughed, glancing at the door before looking back to the man who watched his every movement. "We're getting along, you've seen her – she's happy, she's recovering…"

"I think you should go for a bit is all," Dave interrupted.

The Doctor's head gave a small shake and he watched the man going red at the neck, knew there was more to this than just a father's jealousy over his daughter's preference for the _stranger_ who'd stood by her bed when she woke. "What's brought this on?" He responded quietly.

He shifted awkwardly and the Doctor waited, glancing to the door as Dave allowed slowly, "She's remembered her mother's death."

With a nod, the Doctor replied, "This is good, Dave – regaining memories…"

Taking a deep breath, the man continued, "She got some sort of _compartment_ syndrome in her leg; they're going to have to take it off just beneath the knee, set it for this morning…"

"They can't just _take her leg_," the Doctor barked, free hand coming up into the space in front of him before he shook his head, "No, I can take her somewhere else – somewhere she'll be treated with better technology, more advanced medicine..."

"In _what_," Dave called, "Your Tardis? And _where_? Some space planet?"

"_Yes, Dave_," the Doctor shouted, "Some _space planet_, in the future, where they can heal her instead of _dismembering_ her!" He pushed past the man as he argued, barging into the room to find the space empty and he turned to growl, "You didn't."

"She _agreed_," Dave pointed.

"She's _distraught_!" The Doctor watched as security appeared just beside Dave, giving him a look of reproach before the Doctor took a long breath and reminded, "I am her _husband_; I make these decisions with her."

"I'm her _father_ – she doesn't even _remember you_," Dave accused lowly. "She'll be out of surgery soon and you should go."

"Out of surgery – she'll be in recovery," the Doctor nodded, turning and exiting the room as Dave followed, but he raised his Sonic at the elevator, reached it just as it opened and he gave it another buzz so that as he slipped in, the doors closed unceremoniously in Dave Oswald's face.

The machine climbed slowly, just as the rage in his chest did, and by the time he reached the surgical ward, he could feel his cheeks burning with anger as he flashed his psychic paper and was allowed into the restricted area. He settled the roses down and found a surgical gown, dressing himself and pulling a mask over his face to step into the operating room where he closed his eyes against the sight of her leg, what was left of it, being sewn up as she slept.

"Did everything go according to procedure?" He asked weakly, voice muffled by the mask over his mouth as he flashed his psychic papers again and the staff shrank away from him anxiously at the title they saw, and some nodded.

"Everything's gone well," he was told and just as the man began to give him specifics, he raised a hand to shush him, a hand that dropped lightly atop the bandaged head in front of him.

With a sigh, he uttered "Oh, Clara, _what have you let them do_?"

He turned away and clutched his hand tightly, pushing back out through the doors and tearing the mask off his face before glaring up at Dave coming towards him. "You have no right to be here," the man shouted.

Taking a deep breath to contain his anger, he stared at the other man who came to a stop two feet away to glare at him. "_I have every right to be here_ – and I had every right to be included in this decision."

"To what?" Dave shouted, "Convince her to let you wheel her into your space ship, whisk her off to some dangerous planet where they'd magically fix her?"

Nodding, the Doctor closed his eyes, trying to push his anger aside and understand these were the words of a frustrated father – of a scared father; and he'd been in his position before. When he finally met the other man's gaze, he told him plainly, "Yes, Dave. I would have found a way. It's not magic, some hocus pocus trick I pull out of my hat for a laugh – it's giving her all of the options that _are_ available _to her_."

"What of her memories, huh?" Dave asked on a huff, "Could you have found a cure for those as well, Doctor? Is there something out there that can bring my Clara back to me – the way that she was?"

"No," he began.

"And what of her daughter, Doctor. No tricks in your bag?" He spat angrily. "You've got a bloody time machine; can't you just go back, take that car out of her path, give her back her life – or better, stop yourself from being in hers?"

The Doctor swung out before he had time to think, clocking the other man square in the jaw as he shouted, "_She was my daughter too_!" He turned on the spot, hands coming up to his neck on either side as he exhaled a growl, then he dropped a pointed finger at Dave, who was leaning warily against the wall, "That was _our_ _daughter_ she was carrying and I would…" he swallowed his words a moment, watching Dave's tears beginning to drop. "If it were _possible_, I would turn back time, I would erase it, bend it, _break it_, but I can't, Dave. _You think I haven't tried_? I can't," he trailed, turning and swinging his fists down to pound once into the pale blue paint there. "I can't _fix_ her," he cried, turning to Dave, "_I can't_."

Taking a step towards him, Dave watched the Doctor as he hunched his shoulders and bowed his head and he watched in shock as he dissolved into quiet sobs. The _great Doctor_ Clara had always gone on and on about had been reduced to a simple husband mourning what had happened to his wife and Dave felt all of his defenses drop as he watched him because he knew that pain well. He'd stood in his very place, fifteen years before in a hospital waiting room, and he'd been helpless against the doctor telling him his wife would never recover from her own injuries.

Dave looked to the Doctor and he suddenly saw himself, wondering how he was going to raise his daughter while keeping himself standing, without Ellie, and he slowly approached the other man. He reached up, pressing a palm to the back of his neck to pull him into a hug. One the Doctor latched onto, hands grasping at the material of Dave's sweater as he sobbed into his shoulder. The Doctor understood compartment syndrome, understood Clara had to have been in pain and it angered him that she hadn't said anything sooner. She'd simply sat in that bed and laughed at his jokes and his faces and his stories and she'd pretended like nothing was wrong.

_Because she was Clara_.

She thought she had to be braver than the men in the room trying to comfort her. She had to be fearless in the face of so much fear so they wouldn't worry because she knew they were worrying about her. Clara felt she had to be limitless – _just like always_.

"Is this going to affect her travelling with you?" Dave asked softly, and the Doctor knew the question came not from a place of satisfaction, but from a place of sorrow thinking his daughter wouldn't be able to enjoy what he knew she rightfully deserved.

He nodded slowly, slipping back, before sniffling and smiling and then shaking his head and telling him honestly, "There will be limitations for a time, but no. No, Dave, she'll be just as strong and just as capable as anyone else who's flown with me." He grinned then, telling him honestly, "And she's always been so much more."

"She'll have to get a prosthetic – I've been talking to the nurses, they say in about two weeks…"

The Doctor was already nodding, "I'll see to it she's got the best available. And she'll do brilliantly with it, Dave." He laughed, "She'll be running before you know it; living her life as full as it's always been."

Dave smiled, head tilting in a way that was so familiar to the Doctor, and he offered, "Listen to _me_. I'm her father and all I've offered up are boundaries… restrictions. Thinking she's not capable and here you are," he lifted a hand to gesture at him, "All you know are open spaces." He laughed, "She always said you reminded her of her mum; I can see that now."

With a slow nod, the Doctor sighed and he explained, "You gave her the notion that actions have consequences and even though she's quite a free spirit, that notion guides her, Dave – don't think you haven't played a part in how magnificent Clara truly is."

"Oh," Dave laughed, "I know." Then he looked to the double doors behind them and admitted, "It's not what I wanted; it's what they said had to be done." Dave shook his head as he continued, "I'm frightened this'll all be too much – every person has a line that, when crossed, there's simply a chaos they can't control."

Working his lips against one another, the Doctor nodded knowingly, but he knew that Clara's line wouldn't be the struggle to regain her memories, or working to re-establish her life, or the leg she'd just lost, or the recovery she'd have to go through. It was a single piece of information, a _single_ _life _that had been taken from her, and when he looked up at Dave, he could see that knowledge in the other man's eye. And the question – when do we tell her? And how?

"She wants to know how you met," Dave told him quietly, shifting awkwardly as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "She wants to know more about you."

He nodded slowly, replying, "She'll be here another two weeks, at least; enough time for me to sweep through our place," he trailed before straightening, "There are things that need to be packed away." He thought on the photo albums he'd have to sift through; the items littering every corner of each room that weren't quite explainable. And the small assortment of tiny clothes she'd begun to collect. On a painful exhale, he told Dave, "We'll reintroduce her to her flat first, to how I fit in there… work on the details of time travelling later."

He began walking towards a waiting room at the end of the hall when Dave called out to him, "How do we tell her about the baby?"

The Doctor turned, eyes avoiding Dave's before he nodded and responded, "For now, we don't."


	5. Chapter 5

Her first instinct upon waking was to move her aching leg and she winced against her growing awareness of the pain just underneath her knee and the odd sensation of sheets that seemed to lie inside of the limb. Clara opened her eyes, looking to the ceiling as she grimaced and shifted the leg again, nodding slowly as the beeping beside her quickened and she felt a hand settle on her shoulder, knew immediately who it was and she smiled before turning to meet his concerned gaze. One that shifted quickly into an appreciative stare as his fingers massaged at her.

"Good morning, Clara," the Doctor whispered. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm sorry," she immediately responded, frowning and adding, "I'm sorry, I should have talked to you before and I didn't realize. Didn't even think," her hand came up to touch her head before falling away as she closed her eyes and moved again, hissing and admitting, "I feel strange," and then her eyes teared up, "And it really hurts."

Her left leg lifted and she slapped her foot to the bed, which sent a jolt to the other leg and the Doctor watched her grip at the sheets, teeth gritting as he explained, "Clara, it's going to hurt for a few days, it's a massive trauma to your body, your mind. I know how impossible it sounds, but you have to _try_ and relax."

Shaking her head, she looked up at him again and Clara wanted to ask for her mum before remembering her mum wasn't around. _She'd died_. Clara pushed herself up and collapsed back onto the pillow, her right arm now on fire from all of her unconscious movements and she could feel the warmth of tears rolling over her temples, soaking into the gauze still wrapped around her head.

The Doctor moved to the other side of the bed and he clasped onto her left hand, telling her calmly, "Squeeze my hand, Clara," and she understood – he wanted to share her pain, but also remind her he was still with her though it and her cool fingers held tightly to him as she let out her sobs against the agony she was feeling.

A nurse entered, looking concerned, and she checked on Clara's medications and immediately began administering more pain meds with a sympathetic glance at her closed eyes and her hand, ghostly white and gripping the Doctor's reddened palm. "I know, sweetheart," the woman uttered as Clara moaned. "Just give it a moment, it'll ease up."

The woman waited, typing at a screen beside Clara, as she slowly stopped crying aloud and was reduced to whimpers. Her head turned towards the Doctor on her left just as the door across the room at her right opened again and Dave entered; face immediately going pale at the sight of his daughter's knotted brow and ragged breaths. The Doctor shifted forward, touching his forehead to hers and he nodded slowly against her.

"It's going to be alright Clara, I'm right here."

Dave watched her nod into him, the smallest hint of a smile lifting the corners of her lips and he stepped forward, nodding to the nurse who looked to Clara one last time and then exited the room with a simple, "I'll be back to check on you in a little while, Clara."

"Doctor," Clara uttered quietly, "My leg really hurts."

"I know, darling, I know," he sniffled hard and explained, "You have to heal and healing sometimes, well, sometimes it seems worse than the injury." They shared a quiet chuckle as Dave settled his jacket lightly on the back of a chair, continuing to watch them from across the room. He'd rarely had the chance to and it comforted him to see how easily she relied on the Doctor, even without her memory of him, and how readily he calmed her. "A few days, Clara, just a few days and it'll be alright, I promise." She nodded and moped and he laughed, "Hey, _hey_, you know what happened once? You, _you and I_, we were having one of our grand adventures and you managed to dislocate your thumb. You screamed so loud I'm fairly sure you stopped my hearts a moment," they laughed quietly together before he continued, "And I had to jam it back into place and at first, you told me not to. Said you wanted a _professional_ to set it, but I assured you everything would be alright – _Doctor_ and all – and then I pulled it back and you punched me. Square in the shoulder, bruised me for days, but you know what?"

He stopped, waiting until her dark eyes came open and she mouthed a quiet, "What?"

With a smile, he tilted his head, "You complained about it for a while, said I'd done something wrong because it was sore and then it was fine. It healed," he finished with a rise of his eyebrows as he watched her smile and then wince.

"Clara, sweetheart," Dave called and he held his breath a moment, watching how they stared into each other before she finally turned, as though his voice had finally reached her. "How are you?"

She gave him a tight lipped smile, one he could see was filled with the remnants of pain – pain they'd explained post-surgery would slowly fade over time – and she sighed, "I'll be better."

"Quite right you will," he laughed through his tears.

"Seems it's your shift," the Doctor told him, standing straight while keeping his hand firmly in Clara's. "I've got some cleaning up at home to attend to," he said softly, shifting his gaze to Clara as she looked up at him and he smiled, "You'd kill me if you came home and it weren't in tip-top shape."

"I can go home?" Clara asked hesitantly, looking from the Doctor to her father.

Dave took a step forward and he frowned, "Not just yet, Clara. You'll need to be here another week or two."

"Two weeks," she gasped, "I did this so I could go home sooner," she argued.

Dave shook his head, "You did this because it _had_ to be done."

Her eyes closed and the Doctor knew it was more out of pain than frustration and he looked to Dave as he explained, "Clara, you've had part of a limb removed, they couldn't – in good conscience – send you home to take care of yourself."

"Yeah," she snapped, "And there's more therapy, and then I have to learn how to work a prosthetic. I know," she growled, before adding silently, "_I know_." And then her eyes came open as she looked from one man to the other and repeated apologetically, "I'm sorry, I know. I get it, I do."

Bringing her hand up, the Doctor kissed it gently and promised, "I'll be back in a few hours."

She managed a small laugh as she refused to release him to ask, "Don't you _ever_ sleep?"

He shook his head, "Not while I have you to look over."

"Oh, go on," Dave groaned, feigning disgust and waiting as the two lowered their heads slightly to smile at his comment before simultaneously raising their eyes to one another again.

For a moment the Doctor bent towards her to kiss her lips, but he stopped himself short, placing his free hand at her head instead, thumb rubbing the bit of forehead exposed before dropping his lips to that space and lifting up to look down at her reddened cheeks to whisper, "Right back," and he watched her nod before he turned and left.

Clara brought her fingers together atop her stomach and she listened to the door close, looking up when her father approached and she questioned lightly, "Don't suppose I could ask you to go get me a burger, maybe some chips? Diet Coke?" Her eyebrows rose slightly and then they dropped as she grimaced in discomfort and glanced down beyond the mass of fingers crumpled into one another at her midsection. "What's it look like, dad?"

He peered down where the shape of her leg against the sheets abruptly ended and he swallowed his anger and told her honestly, "Well, sweetpea, it looks like you're missin' half a leg."

Laughing mutedly, she nodded and pushed her lips together to admit, "Feels like it's still there."

Dave pulled the chair next to her bed closer and he sat, taking a long breath and looking up into her waiting eyes. He smiled, shakily and shortly, and told her, "I'm gonna lift the bed up, so you can get a look."

She nodded quickly and he pressed a button at the side of the bed, listening to the hum as it slowly rose and Clara closed her eyes a moment. He could see the quick rise and fall of her chest, could hear the steady beeping of her heart and when he finally released the button so she sat upright just enough, he waited, reaching out to gently take her injured hand, mindful of the tubes trailing from it. Clara opened her eyes and glanced down and gave herself a small nod.

She could feel herself trembling as she uttered, "It's just _gone_."

"We could talk…" he began.

"No," she interrupted, "No, I just need to absorb it a moment."

Her face seemed to contort in confusion and then in pain and he understood – she was trying to move her leg, to move the part that was no longer there – and he frowned, turning away because he couldn't look at the disappointment in her eyes. She let out a small shout as her right thigh lifted and dropped back down awkwardly, slightly bent and pressing into the bed painfully, and she gripped his hand tightly, sending another jolt up through the arm.

"Dad, _dad_!" She managed and he stood quickly, moving to throw back the sheets to straighten her leg down against the bedding before he stared down at the bandaged stump and then looked up at her, gaping down at it, head slowly moving up and down in a sort of acceptance. "Cover it," she ordered lightly before shouting at his immobility, "_Cover it_!"

He brought the sheets back over her leg, his hand landing atop her thigh and giving it a light reassuring squeeze as he told her, "Clara, it will be alright."

"I know," she whispered, voice choking on tears she was holding back. She laid back down against the bed and let her eyes drift to the ceiling. Dave watched her relax, watched her eyes close as she did her best to control her breathing and he leaned against the bed, pressing the button to take her back do a reclined position and when she was flat again, he watched her begin to cry.

It wasn't from her pain, but from her acknowledgment of situation – something she'd been denying herself from the moment she'd woken. Clara didn't remember what had happened, but she had seen the extent of the damage to her right arm, knew it would be scarred forever, and knew she was lucky it hadn't broken like her leg had. She'd seen the pins set into her swollen mess of a leg when they'd changed the bandages, had been told at the time she'd need several surgeries to get back on her feet.

Now she'd need a hunk of plastic, or a bendable metal contraption – apparently, she thought to herself, she had options now. Options, they had told her, that hadn't been available not so long ago. _She was lucky_. It was something she'd heard so many times in the past two weeks, but she couldn't shake the reality that she wasn't. She was broken and missing pieces; pieces her father and the Doctor refused to tell her and as she quieted, seeing her father drop back into the chair beside her, Clara pushed aside all thoughts of luck and she concentrated on what she knew.

She wasn't lucky; _she was tough_.

She wasn't fortunate; _she was brave_.

Clara was better than crying over a missing limb or the pain the accident was causing her. She was hopeful and optimistic and she stared at the ceiling making a list of things she had to accomplish. First would be getting herself out of the hospital. She knew she had to steel herself against what she knew was going to be a long and torturous process and she set her mind to holding her head up. Second was regaining her memories and she knew that would be difficult. She'd already regained a few, bits of her mother's funeral, the last years of her primary schooling, something about blue police that didn't quite make sense.

Third was the Doctor.

She reached out for the drawer beside her with a small squeak of pain after her father had fallen asleep with his face in his palm and she retrieved the small plastic bag. Thumbing over the jewelry inside, she located the ring – her _wedding_ ring – and she popped the bag open to drop it into her hand. She eyed the writing on it, absolutely certain that it was some sort of writing and not merely a random combination of circles and dots, and she slipped it onto the ring finger of her left hand with an exhale because it finally fit.

_Third_, she corrected, _was her_ _husband_.


	6. Chapter 6

The Doctor moved up the stairs slowly, hand sliding along the metal railing with a frown because he enjoyed parking the Tardis down on the field below just to watch Clara flutter down those stairs through the window at his side to greet him. Now, he imagined, she'd take the elevator. At least for a while. He smiled at the thought that she'd soon give him an amused pout as she raced him down those steps. Just as soon as she got used to the prosthetic she was going to require.

And he had no doubts she would win with little effort.

He walked down the hall with a nod to a neighbor who asked how Clara was. "She's doing better every day, Mrs. Murphy," he told the old woman with another little nod before fishing the key to their door out of his pocket and going to the flat at the end of the hall to slip the key in with a small inhale.

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside, and then leaned on the door behind him, hesitant for a moment to enter further because he knew what he would find. She'd just received a package the day before the accident, something she'd ordered special as soon as they'd gotten home from the scans holding the tiny slips of paper on which they could clearly see the outline of their baby's head and chest, arms and legs curled together in the space in front of her.

"_She's a dancer_," she'd told him as they watched her move about. He could still hear the laugh she'd released, so filled with adoration it burned at him now, opening his eyes to walk towards their bedroom where the diaper bag still sat at the edge of the bed.

"_Clara, she's beautiful_."

He reached for it, lifting the lilac and cream bag into his hands and smiling down at it – at the pastel pink and yellow flowers sewn onto it – and then he glanced around before finding the discarded box to press it inside. The Doctor took a long breath, searching out the pack of onesies that had 'mummy's cupcake' and 'daddy's girl' embroidered on the fronts and he placed it in the box. He spent the better part of two hours finding every knick knack he could that she'd already had stashed.

A pack of tiny socks, a set of bibs, brochures from the baby stores so she could decide on her registry for a baby shower. He pulled off his coat and dropped it onto the bed and he clenched his jaw, preparing himself for the small bedroom across the hall. They'd painted it a pale yellow and against the left wall she'd begun a mural of flowers and butterflies and he scratched at the back of his head, glancing around before finding the plastic rolled up in the closet and shifting it over to that wall.

Unsealing the bucket of yellow paint, he found a roller and began to paint over the petals and wings and when he finished he moved to open a window to let the scent of fresh paint out. He knew he had to go through their room again, he had to search through the living room and through the kitchen for anything out of the ordinary, but the Doctor remained glued to the window, palms pressed painfully into the ledge there as the wind blew in at him, tussling his hair about.

"_You aren't mad I want to stay on Earth, are you, Docto_r?_"_

"_No, Clara, I understand – we'll still travel, but the baby is safer here_."

He laughed darkly at the irony, turning to look the room over. There was a box in a corner, first piece of furniture, Clara had proudly proclaimed when they'd placed it there and now he had to figure out how to return the cubicle set and the pastel colored cloth boxes she'd picked up that were leaning against it. He had to figure out what to do with all of it and he dropped his head between his shoulders, pushing off the edge of the window while still clinging to it several times before he felt the rage building inside of him burst in a scream he turned to direct at the room.

He could still remember the look on her face when she'd told him. The apprehension she'd felt because he'd told her it wasn't impossible for their biology's to mix, but it was highly improbably. She'd continued to use her birth control anyways and so pregnancy had been the last thing on her mind when they'd arrived on a planet keen on health and fitness. They'd changed into matching purple jogging suits and had taken off in a race against one another around an orange track and she'd fainted.

When she stepped out from behind the curtained off area in the emergency room, an area he wasn't allowed to enter, she wore a worried smile on her face as she held a hand to her stomach and lead him towards a set of chairs and for a moment, he was terrified it was something serious. Some physical ailment she'd yet to be diagnosed with on Earth because of the limited technology, so her words had come as a shock. She'd taken his hands in hers just as they sat and she'd released a small laugh at the ground, raising her large eyes to find his worried ones.

"_Clara, what's wrong_?"

"_Nothing's _wrong_, really… I'm pregnant_."

He was sure he'd misheard her. He had to have, he'd convinced himself at the time, turning to look at the ground before shaking his head and looking back up at her to see the way she'd swallowed roughly, jaw clenching. Worried it wasn't something he wanted. And he'd easily stood, swooping her up into his arms to twirl her around and he'd settle her back down with a long kiss as he felt the tickle of excitement in his abdomen as her body pressed itself flush against his.

"_A baby_," he'd sighed.

And she'd nodded, laughing through happy tears, repeating, "_A baby_."

Now he let his back hit the wall just beside the window and he slid down slowly until he was seated, turning only when he saw Dave step into the room with a frown. The man looked over the freshly painted wall and he nodded slowly, telling the Doctor, "She's resting; thought I'd come help."

"She shouldn't be alone, Dave," the Doctor murmured, throat constricting against his sadness.

With a slow nod, Dave gestured at him and allowed, "Neither should you."

The Doctor chuckled, letting his head fall back against the wall behind him and he watched as Dave stood at the center of the room, eyes roaming over everything he'd seen and he could see the new sheen to the other man's eyes as they came back to meet his. "She was so excited," he laughed, walking slowly to the wall at the other side of the window to turn and sit just two feet from the Doctor. "Clara's always wanted children. I suppose I always imagined she'd have her own army of them."

Laughing, the Doctor shifted to look at him and he nodded, "Did she tell you her name?"

Dave shook his head, bringing his knees up to plant his elbows against, "No, no, I didn't know she'd chosen one, she'd just – _you'd_ both just found out it was a girl, I suppose. She hadn't told me yet."

The Doctor reached into a pocket in the inner lining of his waistcoat and he plucked a scan out, handing it to Dave, who laughed through tears at the black and white image. "That's her," he sighed, instantly hearing Clara's excited chatter in his mind as they'd walked back into the Tardis they'd parked in UNIT. "_Look at her, Doctor_," she'd finally sighed, falling into silence on the console.

Dave's finger traced over the head and tapped at the baby girl's chest, "Was she…" he began before chuckling, "One heart? Or two?"

The Doctor's lips crushed together as he admitted, "Two," and then laughed. With a smile, the Doctor bowed his head, continuing, "Clara was supposed to tell me her name, the day of the crash." Raising his hand slightly and then dropping it back, he breathed, "Is it wrong that I don't want her to remember?" He looked to Dave to elaborate, "She's got so much fire in her, so much life, and this is draining her – I can see it, even as much as she's trying to hide it, I can see how much she's hurting. Not remembering her mum, not remembering her life, the physical pain… _if she remembers_… I'm afraid it'll all be too much." Frowning at his legs, he finished, "Is it wrong, Dave, that I don't want her to remember her own daughter?"

The man considered him, watching the new tears roll out from his eyes, bright green against all of the red surrounding them, and he shook his head, "No, Doctor, it's not wrong to want to keep Clara from feeling the pain of that loss because we both know it'll kill her inside to know."

He breathed in roughly, bringing his head up to stare across the room with a nod.

"How are you?" Dave asked quietly, looking over the room again as the Doctor turned to look at him, "All this time I've been thinking about Clara and what Clara's been through – I hadn't stopped to think really. I mean," he gestured at him, "I knew, but I hadn't let myself…" he met his gaze and explained, "She was _your_ daughter; Clara is _your_ wife – you almost lost them both."

"How were you?" The Doctor questioned, "After Ellie. How did you carry on for Clara?"

He laughed, "Ah, Clara carried on for me."

"_Ah_," the Doctor laughed lightly, "Isn't that what she does."

Dave shrugged and then sighed and he allowed, "We kept on laughing." He smiled when the Doctor met his eyes, chuckling before telling him, "She always hated to see a frown, even when she was a child – she was afraid of frowning people, said sadness was a monster. So she made sure I was smiling." He shrugged again and admitted, "A part of me always thought _she's saving me from becoming a monster_. Seems a strange thought, right? Except that's what she was doing – she was keeping us from becoming the monsters she feared as a child; the frowning people who frightened her." Dave sighed as he turned his attention to the box in the corner. "Took her a few days to come around to the idea though. It was like she needed to be angry at the world for taking her mum and then she realized, when I forced myself into her cocoon, that we'd been frowning for days."

"And she made you smile," the Doctor surmised.

He grinned, "I told her we should get outside, go for a walk and she put that book of hers away and she took my hand and she said, '_No, dad_,'" Dave sniffled, "Clara said, '_No, dad, let's go on an adventure_,' because that's what Ellie would have said."

"Where did you go?"

"Ice cream," Dave told him on a laugh. "We walked down to a corner shop and bought ourselves ice cream bars and then we walked down to the park and we watched the children play and then we watched the sky turn black and we watched the stars." With a nod, he turned to the Doctor and asked, "What do you say? Would you like to have some ice cream, Doctor? My treat."

Pushing himself up to stand, he held a hand out for Dave and lifted him off the ground and they picked up the boxes in the corner and took them down into the Tardis, dropping them just inside before they quietly walked, neither saying a word, until the stars twinkled above them and it was then that the Doctor stopped and the man beside him watched him. He could see the smile growing on the Doctor's face and he asked, lightly, "What is it?"

"The stars," he replied softly. "I hope she remembers the stars."

"She wants to remember you," Dave told him.

With a nod, he said, "It won't matter."

"How does that not matter, Doctor?" Dave questioned.

"Whether or not she remembers, that doesn't matter – she'll know." He sighed and watched a meteorite shoot across the sky and he smiled, "She'll know me now."


	7. Chapter 7

Staring at the rain splashing across the window in the dimly lit room, Clara sighed lightly and reached out for the controls to her bed, smiling when she felt the Doctor's cool fingers curl around hers to take the device from her hand as his gentle voice urged, "What do you need, Clara?"

"When did you get here?" She asked, shifting and looking up at him.

He shrugged, "You'd fallen asleep." Then he nodded, "I sent your father home – he has work early tomorrow and I thought it might be best if he got a little sleep himself." They shared a light laugh and then it tapered off in the darkness. Her father could only take the month and it was over. Her only consolation was that she would be going home in a few short days – her stay extended by an extra week, she knew, at the insistence of the two men who seemed intent on guarding over her and making certain she received the best care for as long as possible.

"You really _don't_ sleep, do you," she teased.

With a shrug and a sheepish smile, he asked again, "What do you need?"

Clara pushed herself up and adjusted herself to sit in the bed, careful about her stump despite the fact that it'd stopped hurting some time ago. She'd almost gotten used to it, but there was always that small pang of shock when she glanced down at the shape of her legs underneath the sheets, one incomplete, just after her knee. Grabbing the sheets, she whipped them aside and sighed. And then she glanced up at him, "I know I'm supposed to walk, but could you just _carry_ me to the toilet."

He touched the crutches beside the bed and raised an eyebrow at her.

"I know," she pleaded, "_I know_!" She watched him, waiting, but he continued to direct her attention to the crutches and she understood – she wasn't supposed to rely on others because others wouldn't be around all of the time. Clara had to learn how to get herself around and the man giving her the sympathetic look of encouragement was intent on helping her with the frustrating task.

She moved her legs to the edge of the bed, her right knee hanging oddly as she squirmed and reached down to pull up the sleeve covering the scarred tissue before she took the crutches he was handing her and she exhaled, grunting as she hopped off, "Would help if the beds weren't ten feet off the ground."

The Doctor laughed, stepping aside to watch her work her way into the bathroom where she settled the crutches against the wall and remained standing on her left leg, clinging to the sink, as he offered, "Do you need help sitting down?"

"No, not _now_," she barked back angrily. _Now_ he'd made her start the task and _now_ she'd finish and she knew that's why he had done it. Her father coddled her, but the Doctor knew she had to get herself back on her own two feet, so to speak, and he remained with his back turned, knowing she hadn't closed the door and knowing she still didn't have the memories that should make her comfortable with any sort of nakedness. With a sigh, she reached out to half close the door and then she grabbed hold of her hospital gown, pulling it up until she could reach the waistband of her knickers, tugging at them and sighing as they fell to the ground before giving a few light hops towards the toilet so she could grab hold of the metal railing at either side of it.

_This will all get normal soon, Clara_.

They were the words everyone had given her, from the prosthetist from UNIT who came to measure her with some fancy device the Doctor assured would give her the most comfortable fit, to the doctors and nurses who checked on her, to her father, to the children who'd come to visit her, inadvertently sending her into a shock of tears, seeing how much they'd aged. Reminding she'd aged as well.

She continually forgot how old she was. Her mind had recovered her eighteenth birthday, a night out with friends that ended with her stumbling in through her front door to her father's sigh and a hot mug of tea at nearly four in the morning and the simple quietly asked question, "_Did you have fun_?"

But she hadn't reached the Doctor.

Clara sat atop the toilet with her hands at her temples mulling over the new memories. The ones that had her finishing out primary school and taking too many trips to the mall, and deciding Nina's kiss wasn't something she quite felt comfortable returning. The thoughts that included her father's frustration over bills and her increased need to be away from him and the arguments they had over government issues and generational gaps and the job she took at a shop. The ones that also brought her apologies between them and quiet discussions in her room and the knowledge that he tried so hard to be understanding.

She also thought a lot about her mum. She could remember it all – the nights she cried silently because she wished she were there to talk with her about the grand, about which university she should choose and whether a certain boy would be worth her virginity, to the mundane, about what skirt matched best with what top; what shoes would be best for a date; how should she wear her hair for summer? Things her father grimaced at and waved hands at and shrugged at because he had no clue.

With a smile, she cleaned herself before standing awkwardly to bring her knickers back up, and shifted towards the mirror on the wall, looking into the tired eyes that stared back at her. She was old enough to be a mum, she thought with a sad smile, and she huffed a laugh, thankful the man outside wasn't accompanied by a small child who needed her to be a mum – to have the memories of a mum – because Clara didn't think she could handle that. Of course, she smiled, she was also eighteen in her head, despite what she was trying to portray.

And she was struck with a sudden thought; a cold terror.

"Everything alright in there?" The Doctor asked with a set of knocks.

Clara reached for the door and pulled it open, giving him a sheepish grin as he peered in on her. And she asked in a hushed voice, "Do I have children, Doctor? Do we…" she trailed, looking up into the sad eyes that stared back at her.

His hesitation frightened her, but then he dropped his eyes to the ground and uttered, simply, "No."

Exhaling a light laugh, Clara took her crutches to settle them underneath her arms, "You," she began with a nod in his direction, watching his head come up, "And _my father_," she added, shaking her head slightly before sighing, "More my father, really – I can't quite judge you yet," she smiled as he did because he knew what she meant: she hadn't the memories to gauge his behavior, "Sometimes it feels like there's something very important you're not telling me and for a moment I thought – _it was a silly thought_ – that I had a child." Tilting her head she surmised, "But you wouldn't hide that from me; that would be ridiculous and _cruel_…" she tapered off, eyes drifting to the side to whisper, "That poor child, kept from their mother."

Clara moved forward and the Doctor shifted aside and she watched his hands wrap around each other several times before he clasped them together anxiously and she knew – he wanted nothing more than to hold her, but he was respecting her memories. Respecting her _lack of memories_ and she stopped, just outside of the door to turn and look at him and she inched forward, watching the sorrow that soaked his features as he turned away from her.

"We're married," she allowed, raising one hand to display the ring on her finger and she saw the momentary uptick of the corners of his lips, the quick flash of adoration he gave her because she'd chosen to wear the ring despite not knowing everything it meant. Clara waited, listening to the gentle rain against the window, until his eyes met hers.

With a small nod, he agreed "Yes, Clara, we're married."

"How long have we been married?" She questioned.

Another nod and he offered in amusement, "Three years."

She accepted it with a curious look because her father had said two, and then asked quickly, "How long have I known you?"

He smiled then, some memory she didn't have capturing his hearts as he told her, "A bit of forever, I suppose."

"That makes no sense," Clara laughed. Shifting forward again, she reached for him, looking down to his hands as hers sat in the air just in front of them, not quite making it to them – making him unravel his fists to take her hand. "I want to know when my memories will include you because I feel like they're the best memories I have, but they feel so far away."

Releasing a light laugh, he gripped her hand and told her honestly, "You were twenty four."

Clara sighed with a smile at the knowledge; closing her eyes and shifting her grip on his hand, feeling his fingers relax into her hold automatically – as though they'd done it a thousand times and, Clara imagined, they probably had. She looked up into his eyes in the darkness of the room and she could see the glimmer of tears and she lifted her other hand to swipe at the droplets she watched roll over his cheeks on a blink and she stumbled forward as the crutches fell away suddenly, but his body lurched to accommodate hers.

"I gotcha," he whispered, free arm having swung around her to hold her to him and she let him release her hand so he could lift her up into his arms as the crutches clattered to the ground.

He held her there securely, breathing calmly and Clara declared, "You've always got me, don't you."

Laughing through tears, he thought to tell her, "_I will always catch you_," except he could still see the flash of his first glimpse of her being wheeled out of the emergency room and into a spot in the intensive care unit, unconscious and pale. Bandaged and broken. He watched her shake her head and he knew she understood what he was thinking because _didn't she always know_?

Clara palmed his cheek and she uttered, "Please don't blame yourself."

"I'm your husband," he managed, "And I couldn't keep you safe." He adjusted her in his arms, dropping his forehead to hers and sighing when her thumb stroked over his cheekbone, "It was my duty, a duty I swore to you, and I couldn't keep you safe."

"Kiss me, Doctor," Clara told him quietly, unexpectedly.

He raised his head and watched the way her eyes came up from a spot on his chest and she was crying, crying because even without her memories of him, she knew how much it pained him to think he could have prevented what happened to her when _she absolutely knew_ he couldn't have. "What?" He breathed.

She smiled and nodded and she told him plainly, "Kiss me and swear to me again."

"Clara," he began, but she lifted herself, delicately pressing her lips to his.

His brow came together as he released a soft moan against her, hesitating for a moment before deepening the kiss as her arms came up around his neck. Somehow, he expected it to be different, like little things had been over the past month. The Doctor thought her kiss would have been less passionate, less _knowing_, but she shifted instinctively with him, chest heaving against his, fingers of her right hand curled around his neck, nails scratching lightly, and the Doctor could imagine, for a moment, that nothing in the past month had happened.

Dropping back, he released a shuddered breath as her teeth held onto his lower lip gently a moment before she let it slip away with a pained gasp, burying her face in his shoulder as her body shook with tears. Moving towards her bed, he set her against the sheets, terrified that she somehow felt violated by the kiss, by the way his hands had gripped her to him desperately as his tongue searched hers out in a familiar dance, but when he tried to release her, she held on tightly.

"_Doctor, don't let go_," she moped, words muted against the fabric of his waistcoat.

"Clara, please, I don't understand," he argued, hands coming up to her shoulders in an attempt to pry her off him, but she shook her head and he sat at the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her temple, telling her softly, "I'm sorry. _I'm so sorry_, Clara."

After a long sob, she admitted, "I don't know how to feel this."

He laughed lightly, hearts breaking as he told her, "It's alright if you don't feel it just yet," then he added sadly, "Or ever again. Clara, I just want you…"

"No," she interrupted, pushing off of him and clutching at her chest with her right hand, "I feel so much when I'm with you and I don't know why – _I don't remember why_ – and it's so much, and I don't understand _how I can feel so much about you_."

Offering a small nod, knuckle coming up to wipe at her tears, he replied quietly, "We'll get there, Clara, I promise you – we'll get there in the end. _Together, I promise, Clara_."

She smiled then, hopefully. _Honestly_ hopeful for the first time in weeks. There wasn't a steely resolve or a forced grin or a stubborn determination behind the rise of her lips; there existed merely the trust she had in a man she had no reason to trust and the Doctor smiled with her as she sighed and reached for his hand, chuckling as she turned his hand and ran a finger over the gold band there.

"Together," she agreed with a small nod.


	8. Chapter 8

Her father drove.

The detail seemed odd to her when they'd emerged from the hospital and the Doctor had held the passenger side door open for her to slip into the car, because she imagined she'd go home with her husband. Maybe her father would meet them there, following her and the Doctor in whatever car they owned, but Clara watched the man drop into the driver's seat.

"Aren't we going home?" She'd questioned.

"Of course we're going home," the Doctor had responded, climbing into the back seat.

_And her father drove_.

Clara felt the tickle of excitement in her stomach as they drifted away from the tall building she'd been longing to leave and it grew as they emerged out into the city, making their way through the streets. There were places that were absolutely familiar to her and then there were places that somewhere, in the back of her mind, she thought maybe she should know, but she didn't. She looked to the Doctor in those moments and she found him watching her with the same loving look he'd been giving her from the moment she'd woken a month before.

As though she were the most precious thing in the universe to him.

The thought brought an instant blush to her cheeks she was glad he couldn't see past the bright beams of sunlight flashing in through the window against her skin. It was cool outside, but that sun was warm on her face in a way she hadn't realized she was missing and she had the urge to drive to a beach and switch into a suit and lay there soaking it all in, except the thought came with the glance towards her leg and the overwhelming notion that it would be an awkward trip. Her crutches would dig into the sand and her balance would be off and she'd end up a sobbing mess on a half arranged blanket as her father and the Doctor – because she couldn't think about a situation where they weren't both hovering around her – would try to make her feel better.

"Almost there, dear," her father supplied and she was surprised when she found them pulling into the driveway of her childhood home.

Clara shook her head as he put the car in park and emerged, "No, I thought we were going home," she told the Doctor, who had gone around the car to open her door for her and now stood gripping the edge of the door beside her.

He looked to the ground a moment before telling her softly, "We thought it best you start your rehabilitation here – a nurse will be coming once a day and your father's house is better suited…"

"What's wrong with where I live?" She interrupted, "_My home_."

Dave pulled the front door open and gestured up with a nervous half-laugh, "Clara, this is your home."

"No," she told him slowly, head nodding back at the Doctor, "My home with _him_."

The Doctor sighed before nodding to the man, "Give us a moment, Dave?"

Clara watched her father and the Doctor stare at one another, passing some sad acknowledgement between them. The Doctor, Clara knew instinctively, had wanted to take her home and her father had convinced him it was better to bring her here and now the man was staring into her father with a silent resentment churning just under the tight smile he offered as he waited for the other man to shift around to the trunk for Clara's belongings.

Once Dave had departed, the Doctor knelt in front of her and he frowned, explaining, "We have a flat, it's up several flights of stairs and yes," he stopped her, "There's an elevator." He smiled up at her as she shook her head slightly, "But your father had a valid point – it would be easier for your initial therapy sessions if you were in a two story house. Closer to the hospital, only one set of stairs – which is good practice space – and with your memories where they are, you'd be more comfortable here."

"I don't care about all of that, Doctor," she sighed before stating firmly, "I thought it would be better if I learned how to function in my own home." Clara then muttered, "With my own husband." With a shrug, she added, "How am I supposed to get my memories back if everyone keeps me in the past?"

He laughed, "I knew you'd say that."

She nodded, taking in the look of quiet frustration he held as he turned away, before she glanced up at the house to ask him, "Will you be staying?"

The Doctor reached for her hands, grasping them tightly, and he told her earnestly, "Of course, yes. _Of course_ I'll be staying, Clara. Wherever you are," he began.

"You'll be there to catch me," she interrupted with a smirk.

Giving her hands a squeeze, he nodded, "Always."

"There's a guest bed, probably where dad will want you," she explained with a nod and a shy smile, "It's next to my room. My Gran used to stay there sometimes, so it might smell of little old ladies."

He smiled, "I love the smell of little old ladies; haven't I ever told you?"

They shared a chuckle and he stood, holding her hand as she reached for her crutches with the other and when she stood next to the car, staring up at the home that felt at once immediately familiar and nostalgically distant, she sighed. Waiting until she'd taken a step away from the car, the Doctor closed the passenger side door and moved with her towards the front door, hands out as she hopped up past the threshold and walked into the narrow entrance hallway. She made her way into the living room and frowned at the wheelchair settled beside the couch.

"What's that for?" Clara asked.

"Might be easier," her father offered, "Not all the time, but while you're adjusting…"

She shook her head, "No, I want the prosthetic. I don't want to be stuck in a chair."

"It's not for all time, Clara," her father assured, "Just to give your arms a rest – your legs…"

"I want to go to my room," she interrupted curtly, turning away from him and looking to the stairs with a huff of determination before moving to the first step as both men shouted out because they both saw what was coming before it happened.

She was unaccustomed to moving with crutches and she planted them hurriedly on the first step and then moved to swing herself up, but shifted back instead. The Doctor caught Clara around the waist to keep her from falling, but she pushed off him, landing against the wall with an exhale of frustration as the crutches fell to the ground. Instinctively, she tried to shift her right let out to balance herself, but found herself slipping onto the stairs, landing painfully on her side and crying out at the shock of pain that jolted up her arm when it connected with the steps.

"Clara," the Doctor called, "Are you alright?"

"No," she screamed angrily. "_I can't get up the bloody stairs_."

Dave shifted forward, but the Doctor held a hand up to stop him as he told her firmly, "Let us help you."

Shaking her head, she buried her face in her hands and muttered, "I just want to get up the stairs," but the Doctor knew what she was thinking – _I just want to walk up the stairs_… with full use of both legs, just like she'd always done in her memories.

They had warned them it would be difficult the first few days; they'd warned them that even when it seemed they'd developed a pattern for her, there would still be breaks. There would be occasional tantrums of frustration as she re-learned how to walk and function as she used to in a whole new way and the Doctor watched as she took several long breaths – refusing to let herself cave into the anger and embarrassment she was feeling.

"Well," the Doctor laughed, "You're going about it all wrong."

Clara managed a small chuckle as she rubbed her fingers over her features and then let her arms cross over her knees, glancing down at her stump resting awkwardly on the second step. "Then how, Doctor?"

"Slowly," he nodded, reaching out a hand and smiling when she took it, allowing him to lift her up on one foot as he handed her one of her crutches and settled the other against the wall. "Take hold of the railing," he nodded, waiting until she did to instruct, "Just like walking, one step at a time."

He glanced back at Dave, seeing him with his knuckles pressed tightly into the counter at his side, head turned away so he couldn't judge his expression. Looking back to Clara, who'd gone up three steps, he sighed and moved behind her, following her up to the top of the stairs with her other crutch. When she reached the top, she took a long breath and turned to see him grinning up at her and then her eyes drifted to the space behind him.

"Where's dad?" She asked quietly.

"Let's just get you to your room, eh," he offered, "Have a nice nap in your own bed."

Clara smiled, but there was a lowering of her brow that let him know she understood he was hiding something from her and the thought made him chuckle as she took the other crutch and swiftly moved past the first door on her right towards the door farther down the hall. He heard a heavy creak just before he entered the room and he watched her set the crutches down against her nightstand before planting her palms into the lilac bedding beneath her.

"When do I get my leg, Doctor," Clara asked him, "You said the people at UNIT were going to make it fancy with all those scans they took."

He watched her look down at the stump of her right leg sadly before she shook the frown away to meet his gaze as she waited for his answer. "Martha should come by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she breathed, "Wow, that is fast."

Raising a finger, he warned, "It's just the first fitting – it might need to be taken back for adjustments."

Clara patted the bed at her side and the Doctor leapt towards her, sitting carefully beside her and smiling down at her as she sighed and looked over her bedroom. "I know, went through all the details with Dr. Smith when she came to do the scans." She grinned up at him mockingly before glancing around again.

"What is it?"

"Dunno," Clara groaned, "I just get a weird feeling about it all sometimes – suppose it's the memories I've not yet gotten back." She shrugged and looked up at him, "It's like I remember it all, remember it like I'd been sitting in this room just yesterday making plans about university and travelling and sitting for the Maitland's, but at the same time, it feels like it's been forever since I've looked at it all."

He nodded and he reached for Clara's hand as it slipped over the small space between them for him and he asked quietly, "What's the last thing you remember?" It had become an almost daily question, one that pained him because after going from fifteen to eighteen in a short span of time, she hadn't advanced any further in her memories and they'd warned them: _she might never get them all back at all_.

The smile on her face was instant as she said plainly, "Nina and I had made plans to go ice skating. Suppose it was winter." She glanced up at him, "Just signed up for my second semester of classes."

"You graduate, English degree and all," he nodded, head lowering as he lamented, "I know," then he added, bowing his head further, "Spoilers, _but you do_."

Clara stared at him a moment as he peered up through the thick curtain of hair now half obscuring his eyes and she released a bellow of a laugh he hadn't heard in what felt like forever. Her hand came up to her face after a moment, knuckle rubbing just underneath her right eye and she pointed at him as she told him, "You're silly, you know that."

The Doctor shrugged, his hearts thudding roughly in his chest at the sight of her continued laughter as she waited, and he finally sighed, "And what's wrong with silly?"

Lips drifting into a calm smile as the last of her chuckle subsided, she replied, "Nothing. Still talking to you, aren't I?"

For a moment she watched him simply smile at her, and then she straightened, brow dropping as if she remembered something and he perked up, asking hopefully, "What? What is it Clara?"

"I feel as though I've said that before," she told him honestly, turning back to look up at him, "Have I?"

Giving her hand a squeeze, he nodded and laughed, "Yes, yes you have."


	9. Chapter 9

"I know it's not comfortable, Clara – it'll take some getting used to," Martha began slowly, watching the woman in front of her stand awkwardly, shifting as instructed to lock the pin at the end of the sleeve on her leg into the socket of the prosthetic limb set firmly against the ground underneath her.

With a small giggle, Clara reached out for her hands, taking them lightly and smiling up at her a moment before telling her quietly, "Both feet on the ground."

Martha passed a glance at Dave, and then at the Doctor, seeing them both clenching their jaws to keep from crying, their feelings conflicted about the sight before them – on the one hand ecstatic Clara was so enthused to begin walking again, on the other devastated that it had to be this way – and then she asked Clara, "You ready to try and take a few steps?"

She shifted forward immediately with her left leg and Martha gave a wheeze of a laugh before nodding to prompt Clara to try to maneuver her right leg up and then settle the prosthetic to the ground. "Ok," Clara sighed before adding, "Bit different."

"Let's try a few more steps," Martha encouraged, "It might be a bit uncomfortable, a bit strange, but if there's any pain, anything that doesn't feel quite right, you let me know and we can make adjustments." She nodded to the Doctor and Dave, "We'll make as many adjustments as needed."

Dave pointed, "She'll need a new one every so often, yeah?"

Nodding, Martha turned back to tell Clara, "Could be every few months, if you're running enough. But we're working on a better version for you for that."

Face crumpling in amused confusion, Clara laughed at her words before moving forward with her, not releasing her hands as she concentrated on walking. And she sniffled lightly before whispering, "I'm _walking_."

"Yeah," Martha breathed back quietly, "You're walking, Clara."

"Doctor?" Clara coughed, "Doctor, how do I look?" She took another step and then grinned up at him, blushing when she saw him, hands planted on either side of his neck, wide smile on his lips, eyes red with unshed tears of happiness.

Her gaze shifted towards her father just as the Doctor proclaimed, "You look fantastic, Clara."

But she watched her father push a hand over his eyes, the other crossed over his stomach and she could see the shake of his shoulders, frowning because she knew he was crying and she moved towards him awkwardly with Martha's help. "Dad," she prompted, reaching out and stumbling just as he looked up.

Dave caught Clara by her elbows with a quiet laugh, but he averted his eyes as she searched them, knowing she wanted a reason for his tears and he admitted on a whisper, "It shouldn't be you going through this, Clara – it should be someone else."

"Someone else suffering in my place?" She questioned with a frown.

"No, I don't know, _Clara_, just…" he shook his head, "It just shouldn't be you."

Martha and the Doctor exchanged a look of apprehension and Martha went to jot down notes on her tablet as Clara took another slow step forward to embrace her father, telling him, "But it is, and it's absolute bullocks, but there's nothing we can do about that now."

Looking up at the Doctor, Dave inhaled deeply and then replied, "Yeah, nothing we can do."

* * *

The look in the other man's eyes had been one of accusation – he'd been getting it from Dave since the day he'd found out the Doctor was an alien, had travelled the universe through time with his daughter, and had brought her back one day with a fever threatening to kill her if she wasn't cooled quickly. The Doctor hadn't expected Dave to be at her flat, and there hadn't been time to explain as they emerged from the Tardis. He'd shouted at the man to bring every piece of ice – every pack of frozen peas and every box of ice cream sandwiches – everything and anything Clara had in her freezer to the bathroom as he jumped into the shower and pulled the knob, listening to the moan of discomfort against his chest.

"_What's happening? What's wrong with Clara? I'll call an ambulance_."

"_Dave, just bring me the damned peas_!"

It had been faster to get to her place than to get to a bathroom in the Tardis and, in retrospect, he probably should have just dropped them in the arctic, but he hadn't been thinking. Clara had dropped beside him in the jungle with little more than a whimper and he'd thrown the Tardis into the vortex for the safest place he could think of – her flat. He didn't even know when that became his safe place, his comfort zone, _his home_, but he'd sat in the tub pulling the cardigan off her shoulders with the frigid water splashing down on them when Dave had returned and bent gently beside the tub, pressing the bag to her forehead and wincing when she grimaced.

"_Tell me what's going on_?" Dave had asked simply.

He'd taken it well, helping him strip Clara down to her bra and knickers as she shivered, all the while giving him that look – one that argued if he'd left her at home, if he'd left her alone, she'd be fine. Except it was so much more complicated than whatever Dave thought. Clara had woven herself into the fabric of his life in a way no one had in a very long time and he'd found himself ignoring the lecture he was getting from the man who paced the bathroom, Clara's soaking wet blouse twisting roughly in his hands.

"_I love her_," the Doctor had finally shouted, stopping Dave's steps, before calmly breathing, "_And if you love her at all you'll shut up and bring me the thermometer she keeps in the bottom left drawer of the vanity there_."

She'd been hit with a poison dart from an amphibian she'd tried to get a better look at and he knew that the human immune system would do more to heal her than any medicine, but he also knew he had to keep her cool for that to happen. For the poison to slow its destruction so her body could fight and after the shower, when he quickly discarded Clara of the soaked undergarments before pulling a long shirt over her head as she remained in his lap, he'd done so with Dave standing two feet away, a light gasp of surprise at the level of comfort this stranger had exhibited with his daughter's naked body.

Laying her down in her bed and pulling the sheets to her neck, the Doctor had brushed a hand over her head as Dave uttered quietly, "_Not the best way to find out your daughter's shaggin' an alien_."

The Doctor had turned then with a simple, "_I'm sorry it had to be this way_," and since then they'd maintained an amicable relationship for Clara's sake – because it brightened her face to be able to have the both of them in the same room. It eased the burden on her shoulders to be able to honestly tell her father where they'd travelled and what they'd done. It made her happy and he would suffer through the scowls and the occasional witty jab if she could smile during Christmas dinner, if she could _look forward_ to it.

Now he stared at the ceiling with one arm wrapped behind his head, thinking about how he would have to deal with Dave's jealousy over the fact that the man had to head off to work each morning while the Doctor remained behind to help Clara recover. He had to deal with knowing the man was less adept at adjusting to differences in the human body; less so than an alien who had spent his lifetime travelling the stars and seeing every type body the universe could create. He had to deal with the smell of little old ladies because if he disappeared too long, she'd want an answer as to why and Clara wasn't ready for the Tardis.

He glanced up as the door opened and watched Dave enter the room, walking to the edge of the bed to calmly tell him, "She's asleep."

With a nod, he replied, "I know."

"She did well, first day and all – your friend was really good with her."

He smiled and told the ceiling knowingly, "Martha Smith is _most definitely_ a star."

"Dr. Smith, she was a travelling companion of yours. Before Clara, wasn't she."

Turning to look at the calmness in the other man's eyes, the Doctor nodded and admitted, "Yes, we travelled together, a little over a year, though the majority of that we were apart," he sighed, "And then most of it got _erased_."

Dave chuckled softly and the Doctor could hear the honest amusement in it. "How many girls," he began, head dropping slightly before raising it again to ask boldly, "How many girls had you travelled with? Before Clara."

He sat up abruptly, legs swinging over the side of the bed and he could see the exhaustion in Dave's eyes, knew it was well past midnight and he should be asleep, but he'd gone into Clara's room to watch her – to make sure she settled in alright for the night after a long afternoon of using the prosthetic around the house, and even up the stairs. He imagined her legs would now be sore to go along with the arms that had grown tired of crutches and holding herself up.

All things she'd have to strengthen her body to accommodate.

Narrowing his eyes curiously, the Doctor answered, "I've had many travelling companions; some not entirely companions – it's not an easy number to pinpoint."

"Have you ever loved any of them?" Dave asked pointedly.

"I've loved all of them," the Doctor told him with a nod.

Raising a hand to gesture at him, Dave corrected, "Yeah, but have you ever fallen in love with any of them?"

He lowered his head, knowingly, and then admitted, "Yes."

"And what happened to them?"

The Doctor glanced back up to find Dave waiting, hand hanging limply at his side while the other rested in the pocket of his trousers and he smiled, "They were lost to time, I suppose."

"Lost to time," Dave repeated gruffly. "Will that happen to Clara?" He turned to give the door a quick look before twisting back, "You'll help her heal up and then take her back out to the stars and eventually she'll be lost to time travelling with you?" He shook his head, "What's that mean even, _lost to time_? Did they die? Did you leave 'em behind as they grew too old for you?"

They were the questions the Doctor knew the other man had been refusing to ask for years and he pushed off the bed to take a step closer to him and he told him honestly, "Some were left behind for their own good; some passed on – but I loved them no less."

"What would you have done if she hadn't been in the accident, Doctor," Dave prompted, "If she'd had that baby girl – would you have taken them both?"

For a moment he watched him, trying to gauge where this conversation was headed, but the other man stared at him blankly and so he nodded, slowly, and told him, "Yes, we would have travelled. As a family."

With a sigh and a scratch of his forehead, Dave shifted on the spot and the Doctor could see the disappointment in his eyes. To him, the Doctor knew, travelling was danger and travelling with a child would have been putting Clara and her child in danger.

"I know you're old, Doctor," Dave told him, "Thousand and a couple hundred, Clara says, and I know she loves you – won't shut up about you and the things you do together when I get her started – but I understand this is a setback." He was nodding to himself as he continued, "Her leg, it'll take time before she's able to really get back to herself and that'll take a toll on your travelling and maybe you could go for a while."

"Go?" He questioned. "You've told me to go before, Dave, and I told you I wouldn't – I told you she'd be able to travel with me; everything, after a time, could go back to how it was before."

He merely sighed and nodded, "I'm sorry. She's just – she's all I've got. I hadn't thought about it in a long while and now, with the accident, it's just suddenly gotten a bit more real, that fact: _she's all I've got_."

Smiling lightly, the Doctor shook his head and he pointed, "You're forgetting something, Dave."

"What's that?"

Lowering his chin bashfully, he offered, "I know we don't get on as well as either one of us would like, or, for that matter, Clara, but when we were married, I married all of her – being a son in law sort of came with the package."

Dave laughed and tilted his head back, asking lightly, "You're never leaving her, are you?"

"I really don't intend to," he answered honestly.

Gesturing to the door, Dave shot quickly with a sad grin, "Then make yourself useful and take out the bins."


	10. Chapter 10

Clara pulled her olive jacket on, just at the foot of the stairs, and she pushed her hair out over the hood that hung loosely against her back, taking a few steps towards the bowl in which her keys sat, just by the door, but before she could make it outside, she felt his presence behind her and she glanced back at the Doctor with a smile and a nod of her head, "Going for a walk, care to join?"

He sighed and then nodded slowly, going to retrieve his own jacket to follow her outside where she casually took step after step, concentrating on the motions because, he knew, she wanted to perfect them. Clara wanted to be seen as absolutely normal despite the odd limp and the slow gait. Both would improve and then fade away with time he'd assured her, and better prosthetics.

"You," he pointed, "Were going to leave without telling me."

Her head bowed and he could see the smirk hiding behind the curtain of dark hair as she admitted, "Seems like every time I turn around either you or my dad is standing there."

"We're just trying to help," he told her sadly, feeling slightly guilty because it was the truth. It was a silent agreement they'd made between them at the hospital – they would look after Clara.

She glanced up sideways at him, seeing the rejection in his demeanor and she reached out to give his arm a squeeze, waiting for him to glance at her to smile and say, "I know, and I appreciate it – _I truly do_ – but was it like that before? Where I couldn't go to the toilet without a chaperone?"

Laughing, the Doctor relented, "No, I suppose it wasn't – _and that was_ _one time_."

"Don't think I don't see you checking on me when I step out," she teased.

"We just worry," he admitted.

"What are you worried about?" Clara asked.

He watched her as they continued on, then set his eyes on the ground in front of them and shrugged, telling her honestly, "The answer to that question can't so simply be quantified in a set number of reasons."

Raising a fist, Clara nodded, "Go on then, tell me. Let's quantify the _impossibly_ _unquantifiable_ together."

He smiled before beginning, "I worry about your prosthetic leg – if you've locked it properly, if it's damaged in any way, if you're going to see every obstacle in your path and be able to react to it in the way that you should instead of the way you've been learned your whole life."

Clara raised one finger, and then spoke quietly, "Martha explained how to lock it, I listen for the clicks and check and double check to ensure it's affixed to my leg proper and I'm aware to feel for defects or abnormalities that need to be addressed and I keep myself conscious of obstacles around me knowing that I will eventually learn to walk more comfortably, but it is not the same as it was before."

The Doctor watched her lower her finger back against her palm before waiting and he sighed, "I worry about you needing help to do ordinary things and that you'll be too stubborn to ask."

Her finger lifted again and she nodded, "I am absolutely stubborn, but not stupidly so, and have asked for help when I thought it necessary." Her finger came down and she shook her head at it. "Have I not?" He merely smiled and nodded.

"I worry about you," he told her quietly, stopping and waiting for her to come to a halt to turn carefully to look at him as he explained, "I worry about your memories and what would happen if they never came back, and oppositely I worry about what will happen when they do."

Clara's finger came up as she sighed, "I've got access to scrapbooks, photo albums, eventually the internet – _if you two would stop fussing about it _– and if I never get my memories back, I would say I'm doing a fairly good job of creating new memories," she smiled as he did, "And if I did get my memories back, what would there be to worry about? That I remember the accident? The pain? Some tragedy you or my father don't know about and couldn't warn me about?"

He watched her finger drift back down as she took a step back towards him, balled fist still turned up in his direction, waiting. He reached out and uncurled her palm, holding it in his and then lifting it to press a kiss into it before he sighed, "I worry about _you_, Clara."

She exhaled, tilting her head to look down at her palm to tell him, "Then you're wrong, what you worry about is absolutely quantifiable. You worry about me, a _very singular_ thing."

"You may be a single being, but you are never a singular _thing_," he breathed. "_You are unquantifiable_, Clara. Within your _singular_ existence is a _network_ of singularities stacking together throughout your lifetime. You are the outcomes and complexities of a series of decisions, all based upon memories, based upon moments, based upon the choices you've made, ever expanding; always continuing. You are _beautifully unquantifiable_ to me – never just a singular _thing_, but a bouquet of ever blooming possibilities and I refuse to acknowledge that as _simple_. Something to be ignored, shelved, _forgotten_." He took a long breath, watching the way she studied him, a look of absolute focus on her face as she waited. "When I say I worry about one thing or another, it's never truly _one thing or another,_ it's the repercussions, it's the resonance, it's how it bounces against the past and ricochets into the future. I worry about _all of you_, all of the time, and I understand that occasionally one has a need for privacy, for a moment, but I worry about what occurs in those moments – what occurs in your mind in those moments and I fear those moments becoming a new reality, one you don't deserve; one you can't pull yourself from…."

"You're afraid my life won't take me down the same path because of this," she surmised, brow furrowed in confusion as she told him, "You're afraid I won't become the Clara you love."

He laughed, "You don't understand – there will never be a version of you that I don't love. However you echo out into the universe, I will _always_ love you." He intertwined their fingers and continued, "What I worry about – _what I fear_ – is that the pain of what you've been through is hiding somewhere inside of you and I won't be there when you release it because you have a horrible habit, Clara," he pointed with his free hand, "You try to protect me, but right now I have to protect you."

"You're not human, are you," Clara said softly and he paused, afraid to turn and see sincerity in her question, but when he glanced to her, she was grinning.

Tilting his head slightly and bringing it back up, he offered, "Alien, from outer space. Two hearts, twenty seven brains." Then he asked quickly, "Are you ok with that?"

Clara laughed, "Yeah, think I am. Yeah."

He gave her hand a squeeze as he sighed and gestured at the sidewalk ahead of them with a nod of his head to tell her, "Let's have ourselves an adventure then, eh, Clara?"

"Sounds awesome," she responded brightly as they moved forward together.

Of course, while his mind took them to a blue planet in a distant future, their actuality took them on a quick trip to the park where they sat on swings, legs hanging underneath them – or at least hers did, tip of her left foot scraping lightly against the ground as she swayed. He watched her, hands clasped in his lap, with a small smile as she looked over the children on the playground a few feet away, their shouts and laughter tugging her lips upwards as his hearts broke.

"_Our baby will see every swing set in the galaxy_."

"_You can guarantee that, Doctor? Every single one_?"

"_Absolutely – I'll make a list to check each_ _off_."

"You stare an awful lot," Clara told him quietly. Her hands gripped at the metal chains on either side of her as she turned to watch his cheeks go red. "It's alright," she added quickly.

The Doctor looked to the children, reaching up to take hole of the chains at his sides. Then he turned back to her and sighed, resting his head against his knuckles of his left hand where it sat. "You wanted children," he admitted, "Do you still?"

It was her turn to blush as she looked to her knees with a subtle nod before turning her eyes to look at the way he was watching her. That same curious adoration that sent her stomach twisting delightfully. "Yeah, I've always wanted them."

"Your dad says he imagined you'd have a small army," he teased.

Clara laughed and shrugged, "Maybe not an army," she spoke, "But it'd be nice to have one or two." Her smile brightened as she admitted, "A little girl might be nice," then she turned to see the sadness in his eyes, "Or a boy, I wouldn't mind a boy." Then Clara asked him shyly, "Did we want children?"

The Doctor straightened and took a breath so deep his lungs burned before he told her quietly, "Yes, Clara, we did – _definitely not an army though_," he ended quietly.

Her shoulders bounced as she chuckled and looked timidly back to the ground, "Were we trying?"

"Trying?" He asked.

She smiled, "To have children." Her head tilted slightly as she reiterated, "We were trying to have children?"

He coughed a laugh at the ground and then looked up at her and nodded. Then he shrugged, "I suppose we were letting the universe decide our fate."

"Ah," she replied lightly, then she told him plainly, "Perhaps the universe was waiting for the accident, get all of this nonsense out of the way," she swung her right leg up slightly, giving it a grimace before shifting to look at the man at her side to begin, "And now… _Doctor_?"

Clara stood awkwardly as he turned away, but she'd seen the tears he'd shed despite his efforts to hide his face and wipe at it roughly. She carefully moved around the mound of dirt between the two swings and she came to stand in front of him, reaching out for the chains at either side of him as he stared off to his right, sniffling hard while refusing to meet her concerned glare. She could feel her own chest constricting at the sight of him looking so distraught and she wondered just what she'd said.

"Can we not?" Clara asked lightly, letting her hands move down to settle themselves atop his, wrapping her cool fingers around his hands and she ducked her head while shifting forward, parting his knees to wedge herself between them. "Doctor, can we not have children? Is that what you meant? The universe…"

He laughed and shook his head and glanced up at her sadly, "No, Clara, that's not it at all."

She slid her palms inward and then dropped them atop his shoulders before cupping his neck and asking him lightly, "Then what's wrong?"

"I wish we could be how we were before," he admitted, thinking about their easy conversations and their hopeful banter about the future. A future that included their daughter in their travels. Something they'd both been looking forward to enough that he knew if he searched long enough he'd find her list to match his – 101 places they would take their baby girl.

With a nod, she asked, "Am I different? Am I _that different_?"

He shook his head, "It's not that, I said I would love you, no matter…"

"Then why are you crying?" Clara interrupted boldly.

He watched the way she stared at his chin, breath quickening and he understood – she had every intention of being his and she was terrified that she wasn't measuring up, despite what he'd said, because this Clara hadn't yet developed the unwavering confidence his Clara had. This Clara didn't know how tightly she had him wound around her little finger and all she wanted was her life back: a life, she trusted, because of his promises, that would be amazing.

"Doctor?" She asked, voice a hushed whisper.

Straightening on the swings, he looked up at her sad eyes and he smiled before he gave her thighs a gentle squeeze of his knees and lifted up to catch her lips, feeling his hearts swell as she kissed him back comfortably and after a moment he shifted back and he nodded, "I just want to give you everything. I want to give you the universe and everything beyond it, but right now I want to take away the pain of not knowing."

"Doctor, you make no sense sometimes, you know that," she teased, sniffling against the tears welling in her own eyes over something she didn't understand, but was nagging at her.

He ducked his head shyly before peering up at her playfully and moving his hands to her waist, giving her sides a small rub of his thumbs as he nodded, "We should head home."

"I want to go home," she told him, then held him in place to assert, "_Our home_."

"Clara," he began with a shake of his head.

But she repeated firmly, "I want to go to our home. I want to _see_ our home."

With a slow nod, the Doctor looked up into the determination in her eyes, knowing how disappointed she would be if he denied her the simple gratification of a look, and he allowed, "Alright, Clara, we'll pass by our home."


	11. Chapter 11

They arrived holding hands and he smiled at the notion because wasn't that what he'd always said was most important – having a hand to hold and never letting go. He glanced down at her as she looked up at the building with a considerate look. Clara was trying to remember and she thought maybe being at their home would bring it all back to the front of her mind. It did work that way sometimes, he knew, but she simply looked over the windows and the stairway that sat behind it and when he moved forward towards the doors, she followed with a long sigh.

"I'm sorry," he told her quietly when she entered the lift.

Clara smiled up at him and asked, "For what?"

He shrugged, "I know you were hoping to get a flash of something."

She gave his hand a squeeze and nudged his elbow with her own, "I just want to see where I live – know what kind of person I was."

"I could have told you," he offered lightly, "You're a teacher – a brilliant one – and you care about your students, giving up far too much of your personal time to help them with projects and issues their parents should worry about," he teased.

He could hear her chuckling as he watched the numbers slowly tick off. "That all?"

"You're a rubbish cook," he scowled playfully, "Burn just about everything – think you'd burn water if I left you with it long enough."

"That so," she sighed.

"Afraid it is," he replied, watching her nod with a smirk. "And you love me too much."

Clara raised her eyes to meet his and one eyebrow lifted slightly, "Howso?"

He grinned and watched her cheeks go pink before he looked away and offered, "You take care of me, always ready with tea – because you don't burn the tea; you've got that one down, actually – and you mend my wounds and listen to my chatter and tease me relentlessly," he laughed to the ground and when he glanced up, she was giving him a curious look. "What?"

"Mend your wounds?" She repeated.

"Metaphorically," he spat, eyes going wide as the doors opened.

"Of course _metaphorically_," Clara responded, then she shifted, "Were you _so_ wounded?"

"I was dying," he told her with a smile.

Clara laughed as she responded, "I saved you from death?"

"A million times over," he nodded.

With a small nod and a shy smirk, she breathed, "Makes me quite impressive, doesn't it."

"You have no idea," he breathed.

He launched a hand out to keep the door from closing and he watched her exit, arms out when she momentarily lost her balance before she stood, waiting for him to lead her. The Doctor stepped to her side and offered his arm and she smiled, curling hers around his as they moved down the hallway and towards the last door where he plucked his key from his pocket and mentally went over every space to try and remember if there had been anything he'd forgotten. The last thing he needed was for her to come across a brochure or an unfinished letter, but he'd checked ever…

"Are we going inside?" She questioned quietly.

Laughing nervously as she waited, he unlocked the door and pushed in with a quick, "Tight entrance, living room's just around the corner and to your right."

Clara took a breath and he watched her nod her head, preparing herself for whatever she found, but she was already smiling, looking up at her jackets hanging on the rack just inside. She reached out to touch the fabric and she chuckled as she gestured at one of his, "You're quite partial to the purple."

"At the mo," he told her assuredly, "Yes." Then he pointed at her, "You like the purple, said so yourself."

There was a laugh she swallowed as she looked to the décor hanging to her right and then began to make her way down the hall, glancing into the living room anxiously before she stepped inside, her hands grasped in front of her stomach nervously as she moved towards the couch that sat at the center of the room, facing a small television in a corner and she asked, "Still not a big fan of the tele?"

"Not much," he shrugged, "We tend to be out and about, or you're taking care of schoolwork."

Clara nodded and turned awkwardly before asking, "Bedroom's just at the end of the hall then, yeah?"

He smiled, "Kitchen's across the way and yes, there are two bedrooms at the end of the hall," she was already moving towards him, hands out to grasp the edge of the entranceway as she turned the corner and began to walk rapidly down the hall and immediately she shifted into the right bedroom and the Doctor's heart sank. He tried to consider that in her mind she'd never been in the flat, but he knew, subconsciously, she'd gone to check on her daughter's room.

"Yellow?" She questioned brightly.

He lifted his head and made his way to the end of the hall, peering in at the spare bedroom Dave had helped him arrange – a small desk with books lining its hutch, and a single bed with plain pastel purple sheets. He nodded towards the wall at his side before lifting a finger and repeating, "Yellow."

"Not really my color," she lamented with a grimace, "Do I like yellow? Is yellow a color I fancy now?"

With a smile, he shook his head, "Not particularly, it's just a guest bedroom."

"Do we often have guests?" Clara asked, and he knew she was wondering about friends, or his relatives – something he'd gone through great lengths to avoid discussing.

"Angie spends the nights sometimes," he told her truthfully. The room had been their guest bedroom before they'd begun the conversion and the girl had spent nights with them after adventures, or simple 'girl' nights while Artie tended to prefer the couch.

Clara moved around the room slowly and she sighed as she turned, watching how he stared at the wall to his left and she glanced at it. Lips shifting down momentarily, she felt a pang of sadness as she looked back to the Doctor and she asked quietly, "Our room?"

His head shook lightly to bring him back from the image seared into his mind of her half-finished mural, and the Doctor took a step back, arm rising to the bedroom across the hallway. Clara smiled as she walked hesitantly towards it, crossing the hall space and entering the room she smiled at because she felt, instantly, at home. The bed wasn't too large, and the sheets were the colors of autumn, matching the curtains hanging on the window that sat overlooking it. She lifted a finger to touch over the wall, expecting it to be paper, but found it was merely paint and the Doctor tilted his head to look at her with a grin.

"You made it a project, _sponge the walls_ – made a horrendous mess, but it's quite beautiful," he finished with a nod as he looked over the room.

Clara laughed, "I painted the walls." Then she turned, "And I picked yellow."

She expected him to snort at her words, but instead his head lowered slightly and his lips dropped and she glanced back at that room across the hall with a frown of her own. Something about that room, she knew, was upsetting him, and she wanted to ask, but she decided instead to enter her own room and drop herself onto the bed. Testing it with a few small bounces, Clara pulled herself up completely and she laid down, staring up at the ceiling before glancing at the Doctor, who stood at the door grinning down at her.

"Well," she called, "_Come on_."

"Clara," he breathed, shaking his head and crossing his arms.

She slapped at the bedding beside her, registering the awkward look of refusal in his eyes – as though he weren't allowed – so she shifted, groaning as she pushed herself to sit up to tug the prosthetic to the right and she shouted out in shock. The Doctor leapt onto the bed, one hand at her shoulder, the other hovering over her as he started to ask a question before he spotted the smirk and he scoffed at it.

"You tricked me!"

"Why wouldn't you lay with me?" Clara posited, leaning back on her palms and tilting her head to watch him fumble over an excuse before he dropped his shoulders and simply stared. "You're my husband and I understand – somehow in your mind I'm some impressionable nineteen year old girl you don't want to take advantage of, but I don't want to have sex, I just want to lay here with you."

His mouth fell open slightly and he closed it quickly, brow knotting before he allowed, "It's not that I don't want to – I'm, I want – it's just you. You," he pointed, "And your _you_," his fingers waved over her, "And no, I don't want…" she dropped back with a loud sigh and the Doctor remained on his knees, just beside her before he shifted back slightly and then stretched out over the bed next to her, looking down at her as she stared up at the ceiling.

"I wish I could remember this," she told him sadly.

The Doctor picked at the floral pattern on the bedding and he sighed, "I wish you could as well."

She glanced up at him with a small smile, appreciating that he truly was trying to avoid taking advantage of her in her current mental state. "You know, in a weird way, it's almost as if we're dating again."

He laughed and nodded, then admitted, "To be honest, it's never felt as though we've left that stage."

Clara enjoyed the smile that remained on his lips knowing his mind was running over memories she didn't have – memories that softened his features and tinted his cheeks to match the bedspread. "That's good, right? Us never quite settling down."

He watched her hands lift to her stomach as it gurgled and he frowned, remembering the morning of the accident and how she'd woken famished with a quiet, "_Doctor, could you make us some breakfast_?"

"_For my girls_," he'd responded with a kiss to her forehead, "_Anything_."

"How about," he began, hand settling atop Clara's, "How about I make us some dinner?"

She smiled, slipping one of her hands out from underneath his to drop it atop his with a grin because it gave her an odd tickle in her gut that intensified when she met his eyes and saw them staring affectionately down at her. With a nod, she asked quietly, "Fish fingers?" Then she laughed to herself as he stared, "Dunno why I said that; never cared for them, not really."

"No," he nodded, "No, we have them at least once a week. Usually with…"

"Custard," Clara said with a nod before she glanced at him again, brow rising as she took in the excited look spreading over his face, "Have I remembered something important, Doctor?"

Dropping to kiss her gently, he quickly jerked back, sliding off the bed with a double wag of his fingers in her direction, "Very important," he told her. "Very," he repeated before shooting off into the kitchen.

They ate on the bed before Clara insisted on a nap, popping the prosthetic leg off and settling it on the ground and she gave it a sad look before turning as the Doctor slid onto the bed behind her. She wanted to ask him why the meal was so important, but her eyes were shifting shut and the muscles in her legs were aching from all of the walking she knew very well they shouldn't have done. Small trips, they'd told her, to build up strength. Except she knew this had been worth it.

The afternoon, her full stomach, and his warm frame curling up behind her as she laid her head down upon the pillow was more therapy for her than anything anyone had done for her in the weeks since the accident. She felt comfortable, despite the missing limb; she felt loved, despite the missing answers. Clara shifted back against the Doctor's chest and she sighed, closing her eyes as he wrapped an arm around her, fingers delicately brushing over the hands she'd balled underneath her chin.

"Just a few moments, Clara – it's a long way home," he warned.

With a small nod, she responded, already half asleep, "It's ok, Doctor, we can take the tube, or catch a cab, or," she yawned and settled into the bed, "Pop off in the Tardis."

The Doctor froze against her before bringing his hand up to brush the hair away from her face, fingers lingering over the long scar above her right eye that slid up just past her hairline. He didn't know how aware she was of what she was saying, but the memories were there. He smiled and leaned forward to kiss her temple before reaching behind him for the phone that sat atop a bedside table and he dialed, waiting a moment before the other man answered with a quick, "Clara, where are you?"

"It's alright Dave, she's safe," the Doctor replied. "We're at our flat and, if you wouldn't mind, could you swing by and pick us up after you've had dinner?"

"She needed to see it, didn't she?" He asked quietly and the Doctor could hear the sigh he offered.

"Yes, and Dave," he began, "Her memories are there; they've just got to work their way to the surface, but they are there."

He heard the other man give a small relieved laugh before he replied, "Good, right. Brilliant. Be there in an hour then, that good?"

"Dave," the Doctor chuckled, "That's perfect."


	12. Chapter 12

The Doctor laid her in her bed gently as she murmured up at him and he tugged her sheets up to her chin while she turned onto her side and then found her way to her stomach with a soft satisfied sigh. He smiled, reaching out to brush hair away from her face before bending to kiss the top of her head. It occurred to him, as it had on so many other occasions, to simply delve into her mind to retrieve the memories, but he was afraid of the damage it would do. He couldn't be sure what damage had caused the amnesia and his prodding could hinder her progress more than aid it.

The last thing he wanted was for Clara to lose, or suffer, any more than she had.

"What did she remember, Doctor?" Dave asked quietly from the doorway. Her father hadn't spoken on the entire car ride home, occasionally glancing at the man who sat in his back seat with Clara propped up in his lap, head resting on his shoulder. Sleeping soundly.

Straightening and turning, he looked her father over, taking Clara's prosthetic leg to settle against the nightstand beside her before gestured towards the hallway. He followed the other man out, closing Clara's door behind him as he whispered, "It's not that she remembered, it's that she knows."

"Now sure I understand," Dave laughed, rubbing at his brow and clasping his hands to his waist.

"The mind, it's like a computer in a sense. You store memories away and for the most part, they're accessible to you – some a little more difficult to retrieve than others – but when your brain is damaged. Well, it's like a virus wreaking havoc on an operating system. Worst case scenario, you lose the computer; which would mean death for a human, or a vegetable state, which thankfully we're not dealing with." He offered a light smile before continuing, "Generally you have to return to factory defaults and that, Dave, that would be full amnesia, but sometimes you can recover from a backup disk…"

"Yeah," Dave nodded while shrugging, "I get the concept of amnesia, Doctor – _not quite as thick as you two seem to think _– but what's it that she knows? What's she remembered?"

"Clara's got a backup disk and she's slowly rebooting," he laughed. "She asked for fish finger and custard," he told him with a confident nod before grinning at the perplexed look on the man's face, "Seems strange, yes, but it's something we've had – her and I – something from our past… something that means something."

With a nod, Dave allowed, "Ok, gotcha."

"And she said we could get home in the Tardis," he watched Dave's eyes rise, "She was asleep when she spoke, so I'm not sure she'll understand when she wakes, or even remember, but it's there Dave. The concept of the Tardis and that we can travel in it, it's there in her mind, trying to break to the surface." He smiled, "She also said she was nineteen."

Dave's hands dropped as he smiled, "So she's gained another year."

The Doctor nodded and gestured back, "I think it might be best if we moved back home."

"No," Dave stated automatically.

Watching the man, the Doctor considered him before asking quickly, "Why are you resisting this?"

He lifted a hand and dropped it, shaking his head to tell him, "I'm not resisting, Doctor – I want her to go home, I just want her to be ready when she gets there."

"You don't want her to remember," he stated calmly.

"It's not that," Dave hissed, taking a few steps down the hall towards the stairs before turning and gesturing at Clara's room, "She needs to build up strength, physically, and we agreed that's better done here. Nurse has been coming; your friend Martha's been by – everything she needs is here."

"This isn't her home, Dave. It hasn't been for a very long time." Then he nodded, "We've got the spare bedroom – you could stay with us for a time."

Dave laughed and shook his head, "No offense, Doctor, but I'm not keen on waking in the middle of the night and stumbling upon anything I ought not be seeing or hearing."

"Is that what this is about?" He asked quickly before seeing the way Dave rolled his eyes and he took a long slow breath before offering, "You don't trust me with her."

"That's _absolutely_ not it," Dave assured with a point of his finger, "I know you risked your life to save hers – know you'd done it time and time again. And it isn't the accident," he lowered his head, "I know there was nothing, aside from refusing to let Clara leave home, you could have done to prevent that."

The Doctor watched Dave as he reached out to grip the edge of the rails of the stairs and he took a step forward, asking firmly, "Is that it, then? You think _keeping her home_ will keep her from danger?"

"No," Dave shouted before turning away, hand coming up to his forehead as he half turned on the spot and looked back at the Doctor with a scowl of frustration, "Look, you can't just pin a reason on an action. It's all more complicated than that, ok? I just think it's best for her, for the moment, to be here." He sighed and took a step away as the Doctor watched him, "We can disagree about this another time, right now I need to get some sleep. Unlike you, I can't function on a few hours a week."

Despite the questions still lingering in his mind, and the certainty he had about Dave not wanting Clara out and about, and especially not in his company, the Doctor allowed the man to stomp his way into his room, door shutting roughly behind him. He half turned to look back at Clara's door before making his way towards it, hoping they hadn't woken her, but he found her still asleep. He trudged down the steps and out into the yard and then into a back alley where the Tardis was currently parked and he pushed in with a long exhale.

"_Humans_," he told the Tardis knowingly, "Always one thing or another they don't want to expose."

The Tardis beeped back at him angrily and he pinched his lips together tightly to glare.

"Oh," he coughed, "_I know_," he whined, "Don't give me that tone – I know I keep my own secrets, but they're for _good reasons_!" He walked around the console, finger swiping at buttons before he landed against the metal with both palms, "She's remembering," he sighed, "Remembering, and he doesn't want it." The Doctor glanced up at the glowing center, watching its greenish blue hues glimmer a golden orange for a moment and he smiled, "Yes, I'm talking about Clara," he admitted, "And Dave – her _father_."

He strolled around it again, plucking his Sonic to twirl in the air before pointing, "The thing about humans and their parents is, well, it's quite a complicated relationship. You birth the child and are then expected to raise it, to nurture it, to take responsibility for it, and when it – he or she or them – reaches a certain age, you're supposed to release it upon the world and hope for the best knowing whatever they return will somehow reflect back upon you, and Clara is absolutely brilliant. Her father," he laughed, "He has more to do with it than he realizes, but now?" The Doctor shook his head, "Now he wants to protect her. Shield her. Hold her back from the outside world and I know…" he trailed with a point of the Sonic up at the console, "I know that's what it is and I understand why he wants to do it."

Pushing the Sonic back into his pocket, he slowed his movements to a stop and hung his head slightly with a sniffle as he thought about Clara, about how she should be on the other side of the console telling him he needed to give her father space. Telling him he needed to give her father the opportunity to work things out his own way.

"_He's stubborn sometimes, Doctor_."

"_Yes, I know exactly how that can be_."

"_Yes, I know exactly how that can be as well."_

With a small smile, he sighed and explained, "What he doesn't comprehend is I want the very thing he does – Clara safe and sound. _Clara never in danger_. Except – and he, more than most, should also understand this – it's impossible to predict the day to day, to anticipate the actions of others and how that will impact everything around them in a ripple effect of decisions and consequences." Pushing off the console, he began to undo the buttons of his waistcoat, ready for a long warm shower before he went back into the house and he turned back when the Tardis rang her bell, "Oh, of course I'm going to defy his wishes. She's his daughter and I respect that, but Clara is also _my wife _and I'll do what's best for her, regardless of what he wants."

Because the best thing for Clara, the Doctor knew, was to get out of the house Dave intended to cocoon her inside of. The best thing for her before had been him taking her out into the universe and showing her how _grand_ _she could be_ and he had every intention of showing her again. He washed, lingering underneath the torrent of hot water until his fingers wrinkled, and then he changed into long pants and a shirt, throwing an oversized blue robe over himself as he exited the Tardis and made his way back to the house, his suit for the following day draped over his arm.

The Doctor locked the back door and he went up the steps, checking first on Dave, now snoring in a deep sleep, and then Clara, who was breathing softly, calmly dreaming, and he nodded as he went into the spare room, dropping his outfit on the back of a chair before settling down into the bed. Those few hours, he knew, he would need them that night and as he relaxed against the overly fluffy pillow beneath his head, he thought about where he might take her.

Her favorite places were museums and restaurants, but he wasn't sure if the nineteen year old version of her would appreciate those trips as much. He chuckled, imagining she would roll her eyes and give him a look of confusion… except he knew there would be an interest she wouldn't be able to deny. Of course, he also wanted to take her out to the countryside. To let her lay atop his long coat as they reminisced and he imagined the stories she had to tell now, her teenage years so firmly in her memories, would be just as interesting as the ones she told of students in her class and the shenanigans they got themselves into.

He drifted to sleep so soundly he didn't hear Clara quietly making her way into the room, crutch settled under her right arm as she winced over the sound of the door closing behind her. She watched him a moment, bottom left side of her lip held firmly between her teeth as she considered what she was about to do and how it would anger the man across the hall, but the afternoon was still occupying her mind and somehow the Doctor's proximity had made so much of the agony of the past month slip away for a few beautiful moments.

Clara stepped carefully to the side of the bed and pulled back the sheets, sitting and taking a long breath imagining she should feel some sort of anxious pang of fear, but instead she felt the same constant pull she had always felt towards this man. _This ridiculous man_, she thought to herself with a quiet chuckle as she leaned in towards him and brushed the bangs off his forehead in a move so familiar and automatic it made her heart leap.

"Doctor?" She whispered.

"Hmmmm," he replied as he continued sleeping.

"Is it alright if I stay here with you tonight?" Clara asked, holding her crutch as she watched his face crumple in confusion a moment before he smiled lightly and she wondered if he'd heard, or if there was some random thought fluttering through his mind she could ask him about in the morning. Laying the crutch quietly against the ground and giving it a small push underneath the bed, Clara brought her legs up underneath the covers and she settled herself into him.

She let out a small noise of shock when he turned on his side towards her and curled an arm around her, bringing her closer to him with a long sigh into the top of her head. Clara tucked her left foot between his calves and she slid a palm over his chest, feeling for his heartbeat and frowning at what she found. She slipped her fingers underneath the fabric of his shirt as he let out a soft moan and she laid her hand flat against his skin, frowning up at him because she knew there were too many beats – _too quick in succession for one heart_ – and she wanted to be afraid.

But somehow she wasn't.

Because she knew, _somehow she just accepted,_ that it was absolutely normal.


	13. Chapter 13

The Doctor woke at the sound of a curse and when he opened his eyes, he could see the door swaying shut before he registered the warmth sprawled along his left side. He couldn't help the grin that spread over his face, or the way his fingers moved to caress her cheek, pushing a stray lock of hair away. Across the hall he could hear Dave readying himself for work and when the door finally re-opened, the man peered in, but stared at the wall to the Doctor's right.

"She snuck in during the night," the Doctor offered, "Nothing _happened_."

The words did little to alleviate the disturbed look on the other man's face as he nodded, jaw clenched as he turned his eyes to the ground and told him firmly, "Be back around six, yeah?"

"See you then," the Doctor replied as the man tightened his grip on the doorknob a moment before turning away and launching himself down the steps rapidly and through the front door as the Doctor sighed and looked to Clara. "_You_," he whispered, "_Will be the death of me_."

She sighed into his breast and her fingers shifted slightly atop his chest. It felt like it had been forever since he'd been able to hold her this way and he felt guilty for not wanting to wake her; to keep her left leg curled over top his waist, foot relaxed against the inside of his left knee and her body snug against him. He was tempted to pull her onto him, to wrap his arms around her or gently massage the aches in her back away before rolling over onto her with a shared laugh.

"Clara?" He whispered, knuckles nudging her jaw to lift her head up where he could see the confused look settling into her features as she tried desperately to hold onto sleep. "Clara?"

"No," she murmured, "Not just yet, Doctor."

"Your father's left for work, says he'll be back at six," he offered lightly.

He watched the smile that crept over her lips as she buried her forehead in his side and muttered, "He probably thinks we shagged in this tiny old bed, doesn't he."

"Believe so," the Doctor sighed.

Clara lifted her head to look him over and she leaned her chin into her palm, smirking. A smirk he returned before his eyes went wide and he began shaking his head as she laughed, "Am I that preoccupied with sex in my future that you're continuously thinking it's on my mind?"

He gave a nervous laugh and squeaked, "No."

She shifted, turning and sitting up at the edge of the bed to run her hand along her right thigh, over the shorts she'd changed into before she'd gone in to sleep with her husband, letting her fingers rest over the curved scarred skin at the end. It hadn't gotten any easier to accept that most of the bottom half of her leg was no longer there, but it was starting to feel normal and she imagined one morning she would wake up and look down and not feel that loss. _Today_ was not _that day_.

"I know what you're thinking," Clara breathed without turning, hearing the bed groan under his movements and she could feel him sitting, just behind her, knew his hands were hovering at her back because he tended to be hesitant to touch her. Clara understood – she was nineteen in her head; hadn't even met him. _And he was a good man_. She smiled, grateful that she'd married well because her nineteen year old self was uncertain she'd ever marry, much less find a bloke who cared so much about her he would spend his every waking moment trying to ensure her happiness.

She turned when she felt his breath release against her hair, a warm exhale that sizzled over her skin in a wave of gooseflesh as he asked, "What am I thinking?"

"Wonderful things," she smiled, watching him, bringing her leg back up onto the bed to look down at it and continue, "Encouraging things about how I'm doing so much better. How proud you are that I've taken to the prosthetic leg so quickly and that I'm enthusiastic to walk again. _How much you love my fighting spirit_."

"How much I love you," he told her with a nod.

She giggled and rubbed lightly at her thigh as she repeated, "Yes, Doctor, how much you love me."

His hand met hers just at her knee and he wove his fingers between hers, telling her lightly, "It's just a part of you, a part of your body – all of what makes you _you_ is still here and I still cherish you, same as I did the day I met you."

Clara tilted her head to lean against his shoulder, feeling his lips at her temple as she shrugged, "Sometimes when I wake up, I've forgotten what's happened – I suppose it's the nineteen year old memories overriding the reality of my thirty year old self." She laughed, "Then I look down and it's still gone."

She hadn't really admitted it to either of them because she could tell they both wanted her to recover physically, and they were both confident she would – but she also knew they both worried about her mental recovery. Her therapist had told her it would take time to reconcile the loss of her leg and she'd simply smiled and said everything was fine because shouldn't it be? She still had her life, she was alive and able to walk down the street and appreciate the odd smells in the air and the orchestra of sounds around her. She could eat at her favorite corner diner and she could call Angie up to see a film if she wanted.

Everything seemed fine most of the time, until she woke up in the morning with a cramp in her thigh or an ache in her knee or a soreness underneath her arm from using her crutch too much. Everything seemed fine until the Doctor began a sentence that tapered off with a look to her father, one he returned – some mention of a thing from a memory she didn't have. She could see the longing in his eyes then; wanting her to be able to remember that time they decided to take the tube to its end and spend a night in a new place.

"_A sewer, we're going to sleep in the sewer_? "

"_To be fair, it's a particularly delightful sewer_."

"Clara?" The Doctor called curiously.

She blinked herself out of her daze and then dropped her brow as she found him watching her oddly, his hand clasped around her right thigh, just above her knee, as his eyes remained trained on her while she refocused on where she was. It had been happening on and off like that, little glimpses of moments – snippets of dialogue – and she couldn't place them. She knew they were from memories not quite formed and she was afraid to ask because they seemed so insane she imagined maybe they were just dreams. Bits of make believe.

A sun with an angry face.

A lizard woman and a potato man.

A spectacle of lightning that blinded her as she'd leapt towards it.

With a smile, she shook her head and mumbled, "It's fine; I'm alright."

Lowering her head slightly, she glanced up through long bangs to see him turn away with an expression of concern paining him and she reached out for his shoulder, giving it a squeeze as he turned back and smiled, asking quickly, "Breakfast?"

"That'd be great, yeah," she told him on a nod, hand gripping his shirt as he instinctively moved towards her to kiss her and then pulled away and she admitted, "I wish you wouldn't do that. I get why, at the hospital, at first, but I _know you_ now."

His cheeks tinted as he chuckled and said, "Sorry, I just don't want to move too quickly."

Clara glanced around and her lips pushed together in amusement as she reminded, "I climbed into bed with you, I don't think an occasional kiss is too forward."

She held tightly to his shirt as he shifted forward and planted his knuckles beside her hips to kiss her on a laugh and Clara leaned back, tugging at him until he dropped down clumsily atop her. Nestling her head into the pillow behind her as he lifted up slightly, she smiled at the shy look on his face and she wondered, not for the first time, what their love life had been like. There was the hint of an erection pressing itself into her hip and she considered working him up, testing those waters, but the instant the thought crossed her mind, he rolled away from her and quickly stood, darting out of the room.

With a sigh, she shifted on the bed and then reached down just underneath for her crutch so she could make her way back to her room to sit atop her own bed. Clara reached for the sleeve for her leg at her bedside after she laid the crutch down. For a moment she held it tightly between her hands, staring down at the long pin at the end and then she set it down on her lap, swallowing roughly against the sudden thought – the one that occasionally jolted her in the oddest way – _this will be your life forever_.

Clara huffed a laugh as she plucked a sock from her nightstand to cover over her scarring before rolling away the edges of the sleeve and securing it to the end of her right leg, slipping it upwards carefully over her leg and letting the limb hang over the side of the bed. She reached for the prosthetic that sat atop the nightstand and she cautiously slid it up over the pin and onto her stump before moving to stand, taking a few steps in place as it clicked, locking it on for the day.

Somewhere inside she could hear her father's voice urging her to use her wheelchair, because he was concerned she would overdo it too quickly on the prosthetic, but she shook the thought aside. Maybe it was stubbornness; maybe it was vanity – but she wanted to remain standing. Swallowing roughly, she made her way into the bathroom to stare at herself in the mirror with a small twist of her lips.

"You're old," she murmured before laughing because she knew thirty wasn't old at all, it just seemed so far off from the age in her mind. And her memories held a rounder, fuller, face that had become this woman staring back at her. "Alright," she told herself quietly, closing the door to begin her morning routine.

She was halfway down the stairs when she smelled the bacon and her stomach grumbled angrily as she smiled but when she entered the kitchen she frowned. She found the Doctor standing over the stove with a furrowed brow and a device held out to the controls.

Clara pointed, head tilting, as she asked, "What… is that?"

He swung around, body straightening as his eyebrows rose and the odd wand with the green glowing end extended with a click as Clara jerked back. "This," he gestured up at the item held tightly in his hand, "_This_, what is _this_?"

Clara watched him fumble with an answer as his head whipped from it, to her, and back to it, bangs flopping about comically and for a moment she thought to let it slide – obviously it was something from a time she couldn't remember – but there was something peculiar about the way he was ogling it. Something about the way he was holding it… something about the buzzing sound it had been making, that was all far too familiar to let go and Clara waited, eyes widening.

"I know what that is," she told him, "_Why do I know what that is_?"

He took a step forward, showing it to her, and Clara reached for it, expecting him to pull away, but he let her take it from him. She held it, lifting her other hand to wrap around the edge to knowingly pull the claws back with a small click before she flipped it in her palm, catching it and looking up at him. He had a half smile on his face as he nodded, asking her quietly, "What is it, Clara?"

She swallowed and shook her head, grasping at it in confusion because there was an odd feeling in her mind, an odd request for information she couldn't quite understand, but she knew it came from the Sonic she held. Setting it down on the table carefully at the sudden thought, she took a step from it and nodded, "It's your Sonic." Clara released a small laugh and looked up at him, "It's your Sonic – _what's a Sonic_?"

The Doctor nodded slowly and he lifted it, "It's a tool, a sort of diagnostic device, can do repairs and alterations to electrical components and some non-…"

"It can't do wood," she lamented automatically before gasping, "I know that; _how do I know that_?"

With a smile, he offered, "Because it's ours."

Breath quickening, Clara took a step towards him and she laughed excitedly before exclaiming, "_You're burning the bacon, Doctor_!" and she lunged forward to turn the knob just as he pointed the Sonic at it and when they both stepped away, watching the sizzling food on the pan Clara had shifted off the hot stove, they began to laugh together and Clara watched the hopeful joy in his eyes before turning away shyly. She wasn't sure, exactly, what the device meant, or why she'd suddenly remembered it and nothing else, but it came with an odd pang of anxiety and the even odder notion… _this man could be dangerous_.


	14. Chapter 14

The thought plagued her as they silently ate the bacon he'd made and the quick scrambled eggs she'd offered to whip up as proof that she did, indeed, know how to cook and soon there was a knock at the door and the Doctor was ushering Martha into the living room, whispering in her ear in a way that made Clara suspicious. Martha moved towards her with a glance down at her shorts and night shirt, and Clara felt a twinge of embarrassment at not having changed into actual clothes, but she'd been distracted.

By the man now grinning in her direction and clapping his hands together to tell her, "I'm going out for a bit, give you two some privacy – be back for lunch?"

Clara stared at him a moment before nodding abruptly and laughing nervously, replying quietly, "Yeah, lunch, that'll be… yeah."

The woman beside the Doctor looked her over curiously as the Doctor departed through the back door, something else that was plaguing Clara – why did he leave through the alleyway? What was he avoiding? Where was he going? They were the new questions she found herself thinking about randomly throughout the day, whenever he would disappear for her therapy sessions or Martha's visits because he didn't want her to feel as though he were lingering, or hovering, so she could concentrate on the exercises and the questions asked of her.

"Let's get you in your chair," Martha told her quietly, settling her bag of equipment down on the coffee table in the living room and Clara turned quickly with a shake of her head.

She snapped defensively, "I'll sit on the couch, if that's alright."

Martha's eyes came up to find hers and Clara rubbed at a spot above her brow while settling a palm at her hip as she took a breath, knowing the tone was unnecessary. "Are you alright?" Martha questioned.

Clara smiled, gesturing at her before dropping her other hand and nodding, "Yeah, sorry, it's been an odd morning."

"He says you're starting to remember little things – things about him."

"I remembered _a tool_," Clara told her with a smirk.

Nodding, Martha reached for a small scanning device, holding it in her right hand while planting the other end in her left and she stated, "You don't seem pleased." Then she gestured, "Sit… _wherever you'd like_, Clara."

Clara glanced at the wheelchair she'd pushed into a corner before she dropped carefully onto the couch and clasped her hands in her lap, asking, "Am I hurting myself – not using the chair?"

Martha knelt in front of her, placing her device on the ground before kneeling to remove Clara's prosthetic as Clara stared at the offending object across the room. She shifted back slightly, taking in Clara's look of sadness, and she told her honestly, "You could be, yes."

With a small shy smile, Clara turned to look at Martha as the other woman stared up at her sympathetically, and she asked, "Were we friends?" Then she looked to the ground, muttering, "I'm sorry, I've never asked – hadn't thought to ask, but, were we friends?"

There was a small wave of guilt washing over her as she watched Martha's features soften because she knew, immediately, that they had been – they'd been good friends and Clara had never thought to ask her. Had never considered it even though she knew the doctor in front of her had been friends with the Doctor who'd entrusted Clara to her so easily.

Coming up on her knees, Martha reached for Clara's hands and she smiled, "Yes, Clara, we were friends. The _best_ of friends."

She felt as though she might cry because she couldn't remember, but she could see the affection in Martha's eyes and she squeezed her hands, telling her quietly, "I'm sorry."

But Martha merely laughed and pushed to stand, picking up Clara's prosthetic after giving Clara's hands one last friendly caress. "Cleaning?" She asked her clinically, a small grin on her face.

"Yup," Clara responded with a nod.

"Any issues? Discomfort? Walking, sitting?" Martha probed.

Leaning her elbow on the arm of the couch and settling her temple into her fingers, Clara shook her head and watched the other woman scan the inside of the prosthetic with a set of red beams that shot out from her device. "Nope, it's still a little weird for a bit in the morning; a little achy at the end of the day, but no real complaints, I suppose."

Martha sighed and set the prosthetic down on the couch beside Clara. She knelt again and reaching for her leg, slipping the sleeve with her pin, and the sock she wore, off before glancing at the scarred tissue in front of her with a frown, "Everything…" she began.

"Cleaning according to instruction," Clara interrupted with a smirk, "Not really noticing any shrinkage that would require extra socks just yet, no pain or loss of sensation – all fairly normal according to the nurse."

With a huff of a laugh, Martha held her leg delicately and scanned it while Clara watched, knowing she was taking measurements. Martha sighed and asked, "Why don't you use the chair?"

Shrugging, Clara glanced at it and she admitted, "I suppose it makes me feel handicapped and _I know_… I know people function just fine in wheelchairs; handicapped people aren't lesser people…"

"This morning, you knew I was coming over and you put the leg on anyways, Clara," she clicked something on her scanner and set the stump of her leg on her own thigh to examine it visually, fingers working over her skin, Clara knew, waiting for a reaction that might negate what she'd said before. "You should have been in the chair; it's alright to relax – no one expected you to get back to your life so quickly after what you've been through."

She huffed, "What's there to get back to?" Clara frowned as Martha met her eye, "Can't remember anyone who'd been in my life. On leave from a job I'll lose if I don't get my memories of teaching back. Everything I have to get back to right now is ten years in the future."

Martha held her leg and shook her head, "Everything is right in front of you – whether you remember it or not. Jobs can be replaced; I could get you a place at UNIT, even without all of your memories. Because you're clever and you're determined and there are very few people in _this universe_ I would trust and you're there, Clara, right at the top of that short list." She smiled when Clara blushed and turned away, "And everyone you've ever loved, they're still here, still in the exact same way they were."

"Is the Doctor dangerous?" Clara asked boldly.

For a moment, Martha simply stared at her, and then she slowly asked, "Why would you think that?"

Shrugging, Clara slipped her leg out of the other woman's grasp and she shifted on the couch as Martha stood and sat next to her, giving her a concerned stare as she mulled the answer over. "He's not forthright about anything," Clara told her.

"Is your father?" Martha teased.

She smiled and replied, "Fair point," but her face contorted as she continued, "But it's not just that – I know they're both hiding things from me; things they don't think I'm capable of handling and that's terrifying enough, but I just have so many questions and he avoids them, or he distracts from them."

"For instance…" Martha prompted.

"His Sonic," Clara said plainly, "He has… a wand… that fixes electronics – who has that? And he says it's a tool, but he could just as easily blow up the stove as he could turn down the heat. Seems like it's a tool that's also a weapon."

"A lamp is a tool that could also be a weapon in the right circumstances," Martha pointed out.

"You're defending him," Clara accused lightly.

She smiled and leaned into the sofa at her side, "Clara, he's my friend. And yes, he lies, and yes, he has his issues – he's not perfect, _even though he sometimes thinks he_ _is_ – and yes, given the right circumstances, again, _yes_, he can be dangerous. Anyone could be."

Clara chewed her lip anxiously, but Martha shook her head and she glanced up. The other woman was considering her and it was another one of those looks – one she'd gotten used to seeing from the Doctor, or her father – one that held some memory she couldn't remember. It was a good memory, she could tell, and she imagined they'd spent Saturday afternoons in a coffee shop swapping stories of their husbands and that notion brought a smile to her face as she understood: _Martha Smith was her friend_.

"I promise you, Clara," Martha told her quickly, "I promise you all he has is love for you and the only dangerous thing about him would be what happens to the person who harms you intentionally." Turning to her right, she lifted the prosthetic and sighed, "Now you, and that chair, have to learn to get along."

The frown on her face was automatic and Martha released a breathy laugh as Clara sighed and told her quietly, "Oh, fine," waiting as Martha stood and went to pull the chair out of the corner to wheel towards her, stopping just beside her and holding tight to it as Clara stood on her left foot and then dropped down, adjusting herself comfortably and groaning as she shifted back with a glance behind her.

"It doesn't make you less of a person," Martha repeated, "Just like you said."

She turned the chair slowly and faced the woman standing in front of her before dropping her hands in her lap and looking around with a shaky shift of her lips. "I don't want them looking after me."

It was one of a dozen silent worries she carried – if she didn't stand on her own two feet, the Doctor and her father would never let her be an individual; they would always see her as someone who needed help and Clara knew she wasn't that person at nineteen and she wouldn't be that person at thirty and when she glanced up at Martha, she saw the acknowledgement of her unspoken words.

Martha nodded slowly and watched Clara pick at her fingers against her stomach. "I've heard you've got a mean punch," she told Clara, seeing the smirk that brightened her reddening face. "If either of them makes you feel as though you can't accomplish something on your own, I would say you're at just about the right level to inflict some serious damage now."

Clara released a bellow of a laugh before bringing her hand up to cover her mouth until she clamped her lips together in a tight smile. "Do you think we could go out for coffee sometime," Clara asked shyly. "You and I, maybe it would help me remember us…"

Already nodding, Martha grinned to say, "Thought you'd never ask," before she moved towards the kitchen and began rummaging as Clara moved towards her awkwardly, unaccustomed to the wheelchair. She watched the woman pull a tea kettle up onto the stove as she raised her eyebrows and declared, "Today we'll start with tea and then a walk around the block."

With a devious look, Clara groaned, "By walk, you mean I sit in this chair."

Shrugging, Martha teased, "I'll push you, if you like."

Clara shook her head and they laughed together as Martha brewed the tea and they spent the next hour strolling through the neighborhood talking randomly about the neighbors and the weather and what Clara had been up to at home while Martha spoke vaguely about work. She noticed the other woman's measured words and carefully crafted stories and she sighed because she understood that as much as her father was her father and the Doctor was her husband and this woman was her friend they were all keeping secrets from her about her life.

And she was growing tired of pretending it was for her own good.


	15. Chapter 15

"Let's go on a date."

The words were out of her mouth before the Doctor had shut the back door and Clara sat patiently in her chair with her hands resting on the wheels, waiting for him to turn and look at her. He wore a slightly shocked look that shifted to one of concern that then melted into one of appreciation as his eyes came around to meet hers before his brow dropped and he stated, "You're in the chair."

With a shrug she allowed, "Martha thinks it might be a good idea to give my right leg a rest from the prosthetic and my left a rest from counterbalance… just while I'm at home, and for now I'm willing to try."

He smiled, honestly, and – she noted – released a sigh of relief. "So," he said slowly, hands coming together in front of him to rub as a twinkle grew in his eyes, "I've been thinking about a date."

"Have you?" Clara teased.

Nodding, he straightened and gestured to the ceiling, "Thought to myself just the other day – we should go on a date, go on an outing. Just the two of us; someplace… _awesome_," he ended with a smirk in her direction.

"What's awesome when I'm thirty?" Clara asked lightly.

He let out a guffaw of a laugh before quieting himself and Clara side-eyed him as she waited for him to contain himself and tell her sincerely, "Date could be a night in Paris, or a spin around the moon."

Clara repeated, "Spin around the moon?"

"Oh, _Clara_," he told her seductively, "There's always the possibility of a spin around the moon."

"Like to see you try that," she responded in amusement.

He took a few steps towards her and knelt in front of her, hands on her knees as he grinned up at her with satisfied eyes and asked, "Where would you like to go?"

She tilted forward and told him, "Was thinking a bit more traditional – dinner, maybe a walk."

"Well, you love Italian," he nodded, and then asked, "Do you still love Italian at nineteen?"

Laughing, Clara nodded.

"Fantastic," he breathed, "Know just the place," before he frowned. Because the Doctor was thinking of a place in Italy two hundred years into the future.

"What is it?" She asked.

His eyes shifted, coming back up to meet hers to brush away a thought she wanted him desperately to share, but when he spoke, it was with a quiver as he simply said, "No, nothing," before he leaned forward and pecked her lips lightly, "Tonight – there's a place, not far from here; could walk if you'd like?"

As he stood, Clara asked, "Doctor, would you mind if I stayed in the chair?"

His forehead wrinkled with concern and he asked quickly, "Did Martha say something about your leg?"

She shook her head as she told him simply, "No, Doctor," because she didn't know how to explain that she needed to know Martha was right and she could spend time in the chair without being considered less of a person to her father and her husband.

"Then no," he told her with a soft grin, "I don't mind at all – even push if you'd like." Clara laughed as he moved around her towards the kitchen and declared, "Have you had lunch?"

"Martha and I did," then she laughed, "Doctor, it's almost five in the evening."

He stopped in mid stride and turned with a sheepish grin to ask, "Nearing five?" and she turned to see him flip his wrist over to check his watch, eyes finding the ceiling again as he considered the time differential and something about it seemed amusingly familiar – as thought she knew he had little concept of how time worked; as though he were somehow capable of manipulating the time and when it didn't bend to his will, he was perplexed. Turning back to stare at her hands, fidgeting nervously in her lap, Clara sighed at that notion.

Why would she have that idea of him? It was ridiculous.

_As ridiculous as a spin around the moon_.

"What do you do," Clara began quietly before lifting her head and asking, "Doctor, what do you do, when you go out during my appointments?"

A cabinet opened and she heard a package ruffling; shifted her chair around to find him standing a few feet away pushing a cookie into his mouth, chewing as he mulled over an answer and it turned her stomach to know he had to consider an answer for her. He smiled, but she waited, and when he waved his hand and flippantly explained, "Just go on errands, you know, trips to the market."

She straightened in the chair to point out, "You never return with anything from the market."

He stopped chewing and stared at her a moment before allowing, "Clara, I go out – meet with friends and the like."

"Who are your friends?" She questioned, lifting her chin and waiting.

His head did an odd roll, as though the question were ridiculous, before he realized – or at least she perceived he realized – Clara honestly wouldn't know. "I have loads of friends; they're your friends too," he chuckled, "I go to see Jenny, Vastra, and Strax. Sometimes the Maitland's to make sure they're growing up proper, because you'd insist," he pointed, "And there's Sarah Jane and her son, and their lot, and there's…"

"Do you have a job?" Clara asked firmly, eyes darting away before elaborating, "I mean, I know you have a job, but dad's gone back to work and you're still…"

"I'm your husband," he interjected, gesturing to her, "I can take a proper leave to look after you."

She watched him, the steely resolve in his eyes at even the suggestion that he not stay home with her to make sure she was alright. Then she asked quietly, "What's your job?"

He was silent, watching her, and Clara knew he was trying to work out in his head what she was getting at because he was the sort to try and solve puzzles and, for him, the greatest puzzle was herself and she continued to pick at her fingers in her lap as she waited and he finally told her, "We've gone over this; I work with Martha, at UNIT – that's how I'm able to pull strings to get you…"

"But what's your job?" Clara interrupted, raising her eyes to meet the perplexed look in his before she elaborated, "What do you do at your job? You keep telling me you work at UNIT; you work with Martha; you make enough for us to be alright if I never work again – you tell me reassuring things, but you don't give me the details."

He wrapped the package in his hands and dropped his arms casually at his sides, asking her with a look of suspicious curiosity, "What's brought this on?"

Clara lifted her palms and then slapped them back lightly into her lap, "Dunno, I suppose I'm getting restless here and you and my dad, you both get to leave, but I don't know where you're going and it's frustrating that I can't remember." She pushed her lips together as she swallowed roughly and straightened, leaning back in the chair to ask him again, "What is it that you do, Doctor?"

He set the cookies down and took a long breath before telling her honestly, "It's mostly top secret defense projects – UNIT works to ensure the safety of the people on Earth and that is what I do: I ensure the safety of this planet through projects, scientific in nature…"

"That why you have the Sonic?"

The Doctor smiled, "The Sonic is my own invention, sort of my pet project."

She nodded slowly, feeling somewhat relieved, and then she asked, "Could you tell me about the projects? About your office? Your typical day?"

Moving towards her, he let himself drop onto the couch, offering her a kind smile as she wheeled herself to him and settled herself a foot away as he nodded. "Now," he pointed, "They're mostly top secret, like I said. Only the Queen can have all of the details," he smiled, "But we've developed anti-missile defense systems, weaponry I'm not allowed to discuss, and enemy detection instruments." The Doctor sighed as Clara nodded, "We simply try to keep people like you – your family; your students – _safe_, and that is what I do, Clara. My day is going into the office, it's going out into the field, it's a lot of busy work with theories and testing and nonsense paperwork and getting around human arrogance."

"And we travel to get away from that."

He leaned forward and gave her leg a small tap, "Yes, Clara, we travel and we remember that life isn't all rigid teaching regiments and threats to the world – it's wondrous and magical and never-ending and we should be out in it. We should be exploring it and learning from it and existing in it and not held back by the restrictions of Earth."

Clara laughed, "Sometimes it sounds as if you've travelled beyond this planet."

"Perhaps," he teased, "We have."

She shook her head with a smirk and responded, "If that were true, I don't think I could forget."

"Perhaps," he repeated, "In time, you'll remember."

"You're being weird," Clara asserted playfully.

She watched the way his eyes brightened and she knew – she'd learned to recognize the moments when there was a memory in his eyes that repeated itself through her words – that it was something she'd said to him before and it was something that brought a vivid recollection of an event to the front of his mind. Clara longed to retrieve those memories in her head because they always turned his lips up. They made him glow in a way that made her forget the frustrations of everything missing and reminded her that not everything was: despite her doubts, the man in front of her was someone who made her tremble with fear; not of _him_ she knew, but of _losing_ him. And she smiled with him despite not understanding and watched him duck his head bashfully.

As though possibly he felt the same tremor in his heart and he could no longer look her in the eye in that moment because he almost did lose her. Clara knew there had been the absolute possibility she could have perished in that crash. She tried to push the thought aside, but she knew the possibility was real – the truth was her heart had stopped twice: once in the ambulance and once in the ER, and she knew without remembering, that it was this man who willed her on.

"And you love it," the Doctor told her with a quick nod and a point of his finger before flipping his wrist over and exclaiming, "Blimey,_ it is_ almost five – we should ready ourselves for dinner."

Turning, Clara wheeled herself to the edge of the stairs and then stopped. When she glanced back, she found the Doctor already behind her and he sighed as she did, both looking to the steps in front of her. Without her crutches, she might be able to hop up carefully, but she waved a hand back instead, telling the Doctor, "I think Martha left my leg in the kitchen."

"Would you be opposed to me carrying you, just this once?" He asked, voice quiet in the silence of the house around them.

She gripped the wheels at either side of her and turned them slowly to bring herself to look at him, at the frown on his face and she understood – as much as she needed to function as an individual, as much as he wanted her to function as an individual – he also knew it was important that they functioned as a team. Clara bit her lip as she nodded, lifting her arms to grip his neck when he pulled her free from the chair and began to slowly and carefully climb the steps.

"I know I've been _insistent_," he whispered, "You, using the prosthetic and the crutches and the chair, and any other means you can to get back to a normal life, Clara, but you have to understand, I would carry you for the rest of your life if it would take a burden off your shoulders." He exhaled when she smiled, "To see that smile I would do everything in my power and I'm sorry this has been difficult," he stopped at the top of the steps, "I'm sorry that I've been difficult, but your world – the one you've forgotten – isn't as simple as answering a few questions and you have to be patient with me." The Doctor nodded and Clara reciprocated, "One moment at a time; one memory at a time; one detail at a time. One aggravating step at a time, Clara, and I promise you'll have all of me, all of yourself, in the way that I know you need."

Clara watched the sincerity that pained his eyes; the sorrow he felt knowing she was distrustful of him in even the slightest of ways and she shifted to hug him, feeling his fingers tighten against her as his arms bent her closer to him. His lips pressed into her shoulder just before his forehead and he exhaled warmly against her, sending a shiver over her body as she shifted back and smiled through the beginnings of tears, "So let's start with dinner."

He nodded with a laugh, "Let's start with dinner."


	16. Chapter 16

They moved through the front doors with a small shared tremor at being in a warmer space, away from the cool night air and Clara smiled as he reached to help her shift out of her coat. She glanced around nervously, feeling a slight twinge of claustrophobia as people filled in around them while the Doctor asked for a table. When he began to push her along she stared down at her fingers and fidgeted with the thin black blanket tucked beside her legs, one she'd brought with her in case anyone decided to stare, or she simply became uncomfortable.

She knew it was a possibility, that someone – not meaning to hurt her feelings – would look to the stump of her right leg, currently wrapped in dark tights, and stare and she was thankful that she had the wrapping and not just another sock to cover the scars of her injuries. Her nurse had gifted her a set upon seeing photos of her in her regular attire from before the accident and she was grateful they existed because she'd looked at herself in the mirror before they'd left the house and was able to smile because she felt normal.

Bit of leg missing, but otherwise absolutely normal.

Her chair began to move and she gave a slight jump, glancing up to see the Doctor momentarily peering down at her with a lazy grin on his face that shaded her cheeks red as they worked their way towards a table where they were removing the second seat for her chair. Clara sighed as the Doctor settled her to the table and then swung around, sliding into the seat across from her with a quiet chuckle as they took their menus.

"Did we come here often?" Clara asked, giving the place a once over. It wasn't quite a fancy restaurant, but it was a good few steps above fast food and she turned to skim over the items available before meeting his stare. It always surprised her when she caught him staring and she bit her bottom lip anxiously as he shifted back and laughed in embarrassment.

With an unfurling of the fingers of his right palm, he looked about and shrugged, "We came in a few times, and you loved the chicken parmesan."

She smiled, "Then that's what I'll have."

Nodding, the Doctor replied, "Sounds like a plan."

They placed their order with the waitress and sat silently staring at the tablecloth and Clara chanced to look up, surprised to find him turning the ring on his hand with his brow knotted. She reached out across the table to stop him, asking him quietly when he looked to her, "What's wrong?"

With a timid grin, he shook his head and uttered, "Nothing's wrong, Clara."

But she raised an eyebrow and told him sternly, "No, it's something, what is it?"

She watched him take a long breath as he turned his hand over, letting her fingers land in his palm before he gave them a small caress and he bowed, telling her, "I want to talk to you as if you had your memories and it's a struggle sometimes, trying to work out what's alright to tell you – _what's alright to ask_ – and I worry about us. That you'll grow disinterested in me because I'm not the man you met right now."

"What do you mean?" Clara laughed, "You're exactly the man I met; my mind just hasn't met him yet."

He smiled and nodded, hand now circling hers, his thumb brushing over her knuckles lightly. "There's a place I want to take you. You could call it my home; we called it home for a time – still did, before the accident. But it's strange and when you see it, you might become frightened."

Clara shifted back as the waitress arrived with their food and she laughed politely, inhaling the scent off the steaming meal in front of her and looking up to see the Doctor already taking a bite of his own and nodding his appreciation. She chuckled before calling out, "Hey," and when he glanced up, she nodded, "After dinner, we'll go and I promise not to freak out."

She expected him to laugh, but his mouth fell into a frown while he chewed, and he offered a nod as Clara pondered just where he might be taking her. Who had he been when she met him? Was he going to reveal his secrets? Was this a secret? Why was he frowning like he was about to show her a dungeon underground with a shrine to the Queen. Clara pushed the last thought from her mind with a smirk and the Doctor raised his head to watch her curiously.

"What's so amusing?" He chanced to ask aloud.

She cut into her chicken and shrugged, "Imagining you have a secret lair somewhere."

"Like a bat cave?" The Doctor suggested.

Clara smiled and then laughed and told him, "Exactly like a bat cave!" She picked up a piece of chicken and slipped it between her lips, eyes closing against the flavor of the cheese and sauce melting into the just right meat. "I do love this," she murmured, not caring in the slightest if it wasn't polite or lady-like. Suddenly it occurred to her that the only meals she'd eaten in the past few months had been from the hospital or what the two men in her life cooked up or brought home and much of it was unappealing.

The Doctor pointed, "Don't enjoy that too much – your father's going to want your leftovers."

Shaking her head, she offered, "We'll take him a whole new one; this is mine."

He let out a belly laugh and began to say something that started with, "_I forgot, you're_," but the words disappeared in the air between them as he quieted and then smiled and offered, "We'll definitely get him his own."

Clara sighed and slumped in her chair, working at her plate slowly and avoiding his look because she hated knowing if she asked him what he was going to say, he'd make some excuse for the words, or some excuse for why he couldn't say what came after. He'd tell her it was a memory she didn't have; he'd tell her it wouldn't make any sense. She was tired of everyone telling her that her life didn't make sense and assuring that one day it would.

She looked up when the plate in front of her was cleared and found him staring solemnly at her, telling her sadly as he bowed, "I'm sorry."

With a shake of her head, she uttered in response, "It's fine, one day I'll get it, remember?"

"Clara," he sighed.

She was beginning to hate the way him saying her name affected her. The way it always said so much more than her name – _please don't be upset, please be patient, please don't look that__way_; the way it asked the questions he never actually asked – _why are you upset, what was it I said, how can I make this better_? She shrugged and folded the napkin that had been in her lap, laying it on the table and looking at him for a moment before sighing and telling him, "I worry too sometimes, you know."

"Worry?" He questioned.

"About us," she told him honestly. "I know we love one another, _I know that_ – it's a truth I can't explain, but I know we do. But sometimes I worry _I'm_ not the woman _you_ met." She swallowed hard and finished, "I worry I'm not the woman you fell in love with, despite all the times you try to tell me that I absolutely am, even if I'm different."

The Doctor released a small chuckle, eyes lowering knowingly, and he shifted back when the waitress took their meals, asking her for another order to go and the check. When she'd departed, he spoke quietly, "And that's why you wanted to go on a date."

Clara leaned into the table, admitting, "I might never get all of my memories back; I might never become your Clara again."

Drifting forward slightly, he smiled and nodded, "Then who are you, Clara? What are you dreams? What are your fears? Your ambitions? Your favorite color…" he trailed as she laughed. "Tell me who you are and I'll tell you all the same: _I love you_."

"You're a romantic," she teased, "I don't think I've ever been."

With a light laugh he tilted his head and uttered, "Oh, now that's not true."

"When have I been? _When will I be_?" She countered.

"You keep a book in your room, a book your mother used to read to you and the first page of that book isn't a list of ages with a name written plainly atop it – _it's a leaf_. A leaf, you once told me, you blew into this world on. A perfectly grown leaf that withered at just the right rate to fall off in a precise way and drift flawlessly in the wind to land in your father's face, ensuring he met your mother." Clara smiled, remembering the story, but she'd never heard it from the Doctor and somehow his words enraptured her as he continued, "What you decided was the first page of your life is that very exact leaf, the one that brought your parents together and that, Clara, makes you a romantic."

"What brought us together?" She whispered.

"The universe," he responded lightly.

"The universe," she repeated on a laugh, "You always say the most ridiculous things."

"I'm quite a ridiculous man," he asserted with a grin, then he pointed, "And I hope you still love it."

"Obviously I do," she called back in amusement, as he plucked a small wallet from his inside breast pocket and rummaged through it for a card he stared at a moment in confusion before lifting it to the woman about to hand him the check. "You seem perplexed by ordinary things and completely at ease with the abnormal; is that part of your job? Are you some sort of wizard, perplexed by muggle things?"

"Muggle things," the Doctor repeated curiously. "You read those books when you were twenty one and change after Angie insisted they weren't children's books."

Her head swung back and forth slightly and then she realized it – she had memories from her twenty first birthday, memories that turned her cheeks red and sent a blush over her body that made her reach for her water to sip as she began to nod, "Suppose I'm twenty one now."

The Doctor smiled and mocked, "You'll be an adult soon."

"Oh, my memories have passed that," she murmured as his eyes went wide.

Clara released a soft laugh as the waitress brought their receipt and the extra food and when the Doctor glanced up at her again, she quieted, because it was with an appreciation that slowly dissolved into an agonizing look of anxiety as he stood. He was thinking about where they were going, she knew – this old home of theirs – and she swallowed nervously as he handed her the food and pulled her away from the table, taking her carefully back through the front doors where they collected their coats before emerging onto the sidewalk.

"Is it far?" She asked.

"No, but we'll have to stop at the house for your leg."

"Oh," she replied curtly, lips squishing together as she nodded and watched the concrete ahead of them wondering just where they were going. Had they lived in a desolate place? Had he been homeless? It couldn't be too far, and yet, she needed both legs to get there. Clara fidgeted with her fingers, listening to his breathing above her as they made their way through the streets silently and when they arrived home, they found her father seated in the living room watching a football match.

The man turned and began to grunt, "There you are," when he saw Clara in the chair and he stood quickly, dropping the remote and crossing the space between them with a quick, "Sweetheart, are you alright?"

Clara smiled, nodding, and told him, "Just resting a bit, I'm fine." Then she raised the bag, "Brought you dinner, dad," as the Doctor went into the kitchen to retrieve her leg and her sleeve. "We're gonna go out a while," she told the man as she wheeled herself towards the half bath at the end of the hall knowing she'd have to remove her tights to get the leg on and when she emerged, the two men were engaged in a series of harsh whispers.

The Doctor ending with, "She has a right to know," before they both went silent to turn to her.

Clearing her throat, she watched the angered look fade from her father's features as the Doctor held out his hand and she moved with him towards the back door, asking calmly, "Where are we going?"

He looked back to Dave once before they closed the door behind them, and he took a breath and gave her hand a squeeze, "Home, Clara," he smiled and added, "Long way around, as always, it seems."

"You're being nonsensical again," she replied with a smirk.

The Doctor began to walk and they crossed the grassy yard and he opened the back fence, taking her through it and down the alley way a few steps before they came to a tall blue box he gestured at. "This," he began, clapping his hands together, before continuing, "This is the Tardis."

"What's a Tardis?" Clara questioned on a whisper.

With a sigh, he reached into his pocket and plucked a key out, grasping her hand and settling it just beneath the wedding ring on her finger with a small grin as he nodded his head towards the door and enclosed the key in her palm. The Doctor raised her fist to his lips to kiss and then he exhaled and took a step away and Clara turned towards the Police Box with an anxious grin, shifting the key in her hand and moving to slip it into the lock.


	17. Chapter 17

There was a thought, instantly in the back of her mind when she pushed the key slowly into the lock with a set of slow shakes to work it in until the key sat firmly inside. She tried to ignore it, thought herself silly for even acknowledging it, but she could have sworn the box in front of her was trying to communicate with her and she stepped away a moment, looking up at it and turning to the Doctor with a worried look.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Go on inside," he prompted.

"No," Clara responded with a shake of her head, "Not until you tell me what it is!"

"What _happened_?" The Doctor demanded, shifting forward, brow now set in an anxious bar across his forehead as he reached out to touch her arm.

Clara bit her lip as she glanced back at the box and considered it, stepping away from the Doctor to begin a slow examination of its four walls, fingers trailing over the wood. She scratched lightly and then knocked at the back, hearing the thick hollow thud, and when she came around to the front again, she was met with the same persistent thought. One she couldn't ignore, nor could she explain.

_Welcome home, Clara_.

"_Hello_," she whispered at the box, fingers finding their way to the key again as she looked down at it and swiftly turned it on its side. She held it there a moment, other hand coming out to press against the frame that divided the two front panels and she felt her breathing quicken.

There was something about the box, something that sent her heart racing in her chest and made her feel dizzy with excitement. Except her logical mind, her twenty one year old mind, kept trying to explain that it was a wooden box. It was no more than five feet long, five feet deep, maybe twelve feet tall. Her mind tried to tell her that she'd open that door and she'd find herself staring into a tool shed filled with gadgets like his Sonic, but her heart argued that she was about to find something far more spectacular. Something that could take her to other worlds; and the thought brought an instant giggle to her throat, one she heard echoed in the man behind her.

_Because he knew_.

The Doctor absolutely knew what was inside and he knew that it was important. So important that he wanted to show her, but he waited to show her and he trusted that now she was ready. Clara wanted nothing more than to be ready for whatever she found, but she was terrified because… what if she wasn't. His worry was that she would freak out and it was completely possible – she knew by the pounding of her heart – that she might just begin an odd run back towards the house.

Except that her father knew.

Her father knew exactly what the Doctor was about to show her and he hadn't followed them out of the house, he'd simply argued that she shouldn't see it. _Not just yet_. Looking up at the Tardis, Clara knew this was one of potentially hundreds of secrets that the two men had been whispering and muttering about since she'd woken, and she was about to step into it. Clara knew it was the first door of a thousand doors opening for her and she held her breath, pushing the panel open with an old creak and closing her eyes to feel an odd warmth against her skin, a blinking blue light against her eyelids.

"Clara, open your eyes," the Doctor prompted, his hands landing softly at her shoulders.

Her chest was trembling when she finally snapped her eyes open and gasped at the room before her. Clara wasn't quite sure what to think. It was a grand space with metal flooring and circular lights along the wall and at its center glowed a sea foam colored set of tubes underneath a spinning top. A top inscribed with writing similar to that of her wedding ring and she smiled up at it happily because was certain now – it was writing; it said something important and maybe one day she could read it.

Clara laughed when the colors changed to warmer hues, ones that reminded her of the bedroom in their flat, and she slowly looked over the room, at the entrances to other places and stairways that lead below and her body surged with a need to rush about, but she was transfixed on the spot with a fear she couldn't understand. Except she did – it was her twenty one year old self knowing this was impossible even though everything else in her was at ease, knowing it was.

After a small chuckle, Clara breathed excitedly and simply, "How?"

Behind her, the Doctor laughed and, she noticed, hadn't moved. Because, she knew, he was terrified of her reaction and was trying to keep completely still to try and keep her calm and when she turned, his lips were pressed into a tight grin as he gestured around, "Bit of jiggery pokery really – it's dimensionally transcendental, it's…"

"Smaller on the outside," Clara turned to tell him with a nod, watching a look of surprised glee lift his eyebrows and his lips and he shifted to her side, pointing up at the console. "Is this one of your work projects?" Clara asked, but he frowned, so she corrected, "This is a pet project, like your Sonic."

The Doctor laughed as he pointed back, "Close the doors."

"You hate a draft," she laughed as she moved towards them and shut them. Clara worked her way towards him, hands coming up to rub at her bare arms as she became accustomed to the internal temperature and found it cooler than she'd initially thought. "So what's all this?"

The Doctor hummed slightly, as if trying to decide where to start, and he did a circle over it all with both of his hands, offering, "Controls."

"Pretty standard," Clara teased, hearing him chuckle lightly as she bent forward to get a closer look, and then she asked, "Wait, if they're controls – what do they do?" Then she looked up at the tube in the center and added, "And what is that?" Turning, she finished, "Doctor, what does the Tardis do?"

He side eyed her and smiled, shifting out of the purple jacket that had become so familiar to her, and he held it open for her to slip her arms into the already warm sleeves before he allowed, "Tardis; Time and Relative Dimensions in Space."

"Time and Space – it's a vehicle," Clara narrowed her eyes to say before barking, "_It's a time machine_!"

He beamed, "Yes, Clara, it's a time machine."

"Are you being serious?" Clara laughed, looking between him and the controls, "I mean, are you really being serious?" Her smile dropped, not exactly out of fear, but out of confusion, "Doctor, is this _really_ a time machine; can this really _travel_ in _time_?"

"And space," he responded lightly with a nod before pushing his hands together and asking, "Are you ok?"

"So far," she began, nodding and turning back, "Yeah, guess so. Yeah."

He smiled and spun around, one hand coming up to point before he landed with both hands on controls in a way that made Clara's heart leap as he asked, "Where would you like to go?"

"Doctor, you can't be serious – _where would you like to go_ – like pressing a few buttons and pulling on a few levers is going to send us into some other time period," Clara laughed, "I mean, that can't be possible."

His brow dropped as he grinned, "Bring you into a box that's clearly bigger on the inside and you ask if time travel is possible," the Doctor laughed, "Would I joke about something like this?"

She offered a sly grin and tilted her head, "Dunno, would you?"

"No," he told her quickly, shifting forward and explaining, "All of time, every moment, every day, every historical thing that has ever happened or ever will happen right here at your fingertips," he gestured with a point of a finger on each hand, "And every planet, every star, every crevice of every galaxy pouring out into every pocket of the universe to ever have been born or ever to be born. Every civilization, every accomplishment, every bit of insanity anything you can imagine has to offer," he held out a hand, "And it's ours."

Clara's mouth dropped open slightly as she looked into his eyes hoping to find some humor there, but instead she only found wonder. The wonder of his words and the expectation that she accept every bit of what he'd just said – as crazy as it all sounded – and join him and she reached out slowly with a hesitant giggle to take his hand. For a moment he stood perfectly still, fingers caressing her hand and she understood: this was their secret. This was their life.

All of the universe; all of time.

_And it was theirs_.

He began to smile and Clara's lips lifted as he slowly pulled himself to her, other hand coming up to her shoulder as he slid behind her, pressing himself lightly to her back and peering over her shoulder as he lead her hand down onto a large lever. He wrapped his hand around hers, but she turned, nose nudging his chin as she inhaled sharply with a pang of adrenaline.

"Is it safe?" Clara asked quietly.

He shifted to meet her eyes and he shook his head, telling her honestly, "No, Clara, it's not safe. It's travelling out of our own time and space, it's meeting people who aren't very nice, it's dangerous and scary and people die out there – you've almost died out there."

"Is that why my father doesn't like you?" She questioned, swallowing hard against the warmth of his breath rolling over her face as he spoke again.

"Your father disapproves, yes," he nodded, "But ultimately, though I wouldn't blame you at all for considering him in deciding whether or not to travel with me, the decision is absolutely only yours, Clara."

She could see the pained look on his face, the notion that she did have the power to say – right then and there – that she wouldn't be going anywhere with him. Not anymore. Because maybe her father thought this life lead to her being on a motorbike, which lead to her being in that accident, which lead to her memories being gone and her life being flipped upside down. And maybe her father was right.

Clara looked over the controls and she raised her eyes to find his again, finding the assuring nod as his fingers lifted slightly off hers before she inhaled, asking, "We've travelled together though?" Clara shifted again, turning against his chest to finish, "When you said we travelled, this is what you meant."

Nodding, the Doctor admitted, "Yes, when I said we travelled, this is what I meant."

Clara bowed, training her vision on a set of blue buttons in front of her as she questioned, "Was it the travelling that landed me in the hospital?"

She waited, refusing to look up, and when she felt his hand lift to squeeze her shoulder, she glanced back up to find him shaking his head, "We haven't lied to you about that Clara – you were in an accident, on your motorbike. That had nothing to do with this. You took my bike, as you'd done every morning, and you went to work and something terrible happened, as terrible things often do."

Nodding, knowing the association in her father's mind was merely a father's wish to protect his daughter, one she respected, but currently disagreed with, Clara looked back to the controls and she tightened her grip on the lever she held, asking lightly, "How do you fly this thing?"

He gave her hand a light push, driving the lever down with her and the center made an odd vworp vworp noise that elicited a bright laugh from just behind her that Clara mimicked, leaning back into his chest as he wrapped his arm around her to hold her steady. "Here we go!" He shouted and Clara instinctively brought a hand down to a set of buttons, releasing a laugh in shock as the Tardis rumbled around them.

Inside of the house, Dave shifted out of his seat when he heard the Tardis start up with a quiet, "No," and he rushed through the house and out of the back door. He ran through the yard, seeing the dimming light shining out in waves from the alley way and when he finally burst through the back gate and stood facing the Tardis, it was to see the final fading glimpses of the blue box blink out of existence.


	18. Chapter 18

She felt the overwhelming urge to scream building up inside of her as they shook and swooped and her stomach turned while Clara leaned her head back against the Doctor's shoulder and released it. She shouted out in excitement and then laughed heartily as he bent his head to kiss at her neck automatically in a way that was so familiar to her, but still sent shivers through her body as they evened out, hovering somewhere, and he pecked her one last time before drifting back and slipping his hand down her arm, taking hers to lead her towards the doors.

"This might," he began, his other hand coming up to gesture oddly before he tilted his head and reached for the door handle, "This might come as a bit of a shock."

Nodding quickly, she gripped his hand tightly as he pulled the door inward and Clara found herself staring out into space and for a moment she held her breath. Inhaling deeply, she pinched off her airways instinctively as her eyes widened and then she exhaled as she took a step forward towards him to look over the twinkling stars. There was a swirl of fuchsia like clouds in the distance, a burst of aqua at its center and it was rimmed with a speckle of emerald glowing here and there and Clara laughed. She raised an open palm towards it and she closed her mouth and turned to the Doctor, who was watching her.

He was adoring her, the way he always had, and she finally understood what it meant.

Outside of those doors were stars; outside of those doors was space – and he only had eyes for her. His smile was calm, taking in her complete acceptance of the fact that they were floating out in the universe in a wooden box because she knew he knew it was all lingering somewhere in a memory that hadn't resurfaced yet. The Doctor was confident – _had seemingly always been_ – that with or without her memories, she would always remain _his Clara_ and she would always want to be with him, whether travelling through time and space or living out their lives in a house on Earth.

She glanced at her left hand held delicately in his right and she looked over her ring before asking, quietly, "The writing, on our wedding rings – what does it say?"

With a small smile, the Doctor shook his head and told her slowly, "Clara, before we get there, there's something else you should know; something I should tell you really, because it's… it's important."

"You're an alien," she teased. "I remember – two hearts, twenty seven brains."

Clara laughed for a moment, but then she realized he wasn't joining and she stared at him as he looked back to the stars and smiled, head dropping slightly as his thumb moved slowly over her knuckles. Glancing back at the controls, she felt she was beginning to understand that maybe the words they'd exchanged in jest had been more than jokes. She inhaled softly at the notion and then raised her right hand, undoing one of the buttons of his shirt to slip her palm underneath and lay it flat against his chest, eyes meeting his as she took a long breath, feeling the double set of thumps she'd accepted before without giving it much thought.

"I married an alien; I married a proper alien," Clara sighed, nodding as she splayed her cool fingers out over the smooth skin underneath them and then she tilted her head and wrinkled her nose, "Do you really have twenty seven brains?"

He shrugged, "Might be a bit of an exaggeration."

She could feel her own heart pounding heavily in her chest as she looked out to the stars again, asking him lightly, "Where is your home?"

The Doctor chuckled and she turned back to him as he shook his head and palmed her cheek, raising his eyebrows and telling her earnestly, "Right here _with you_."

Narrowing her eyes at him curiously, she corrected, "Your home is lost, it's out there, but it's lost."

"Yeah," he laughed weakly, "You helped me keep it safe."

Nodding, Clara withdrew her hand and balled it in front of her. There were flashes in her mind, explosions and a quiet barn. An old man and a red monster and she shook them away, slipping out of his grasp and making her way back up to the console to lift her right leg off the ground and plant it back, absorbed in the artificiality of the step in that moment. Shifting back as she held the edges of the control panel she stood before, Clara looked back up at the Doctor, watching him clench his fists in front of his waistcoat anxiously and she smiled.

"It's alright," she told him, "You," she nodded, "This," she tilted her head towards the console, "It's alright; I'm alright – I just wish I could remember it all." Clara sighed because she felt she'd said that a thousand times since the accident.

She watched his lips slip into a grin that made her heart skip a beat as she blushed and she urged him closer with a shrug of her head, reaching out for him as he closed the Tardis doors and moved back up to the controls beside her. "We could watch the Industrial revolution take over America, or any place in Europe really, during the Renaissance, or Medieval times? Wear a nice dress – you like the dresses." He lifted a finger, "Or watch the first life crawl out from the waters, or the last blast off to the stars, _or visit another planet entirely_."

"Another _planet_," Clara laughed as he shifted closer to her, nudging her hip with his to gain a smile she aimed up at him before wrapping her arm around his, "Let's go to another planet, Doctor – which is my favorite?"

He grinned knowingly, and then told her, "Faraswara."

"Sounds like food," she said before giggling.

Tilting his head, he explained, "Best bread you've ever had. Fluffy and buttery and melts in your mouth. And the fields are filled with singing flowers – the gentle persistent winds billowing through their perfectly stiffened petals of varying sizes to create a melody you could listen to all day. And where the cliff faces run off into the ocean, the waterfalls hum against the porous surface they rush over so in the evening, as the twin suns set, you claimed it was the most romantic planet you'd ever seen; natures orchestra lulling and comforting you to sleep."

"_Let's go there_," she whispered.

The Doctor offered a wide smile and he bent into the controls to launch them back into the time vortex, hearing Clara laugh at his side as she gripped onto him for support and for a moment he worried about her leg, but they'd been to Faraswara dozens of times and it was one of the places they never found surprises. At least none that required running from danger. He settled them down in a small village just at the edge of those fields and he lead her to the door, smiling when she practically hopped with him.

"First planet," she breathed.

He smiled down at her, "First planet, all over again."

Clara watched the door open and she smiled when the sweet scent of blooming flowers rushed into her nostrils and lifted her cheeks as she grinned. She stepped carefully onto the gravel road and they made their way slowly over the street where they were greeted cheerfully as they made their way to what Clara could see was a bakery. She released his hand as they entered, ready to explore, and was surprised to be hugged by an old woman who looked from her to the Doctor and back again.

"It's been too long!" The woman offered.

"Bethany!?" The Doctor exclaimed, "Look at you, not a day over two hundred."

The old woman side eyed him and then turned to Clara, "How are you, Miss Clara? Last time you were around you were sick to your stomach and craving a loaf of my Nan's best."

"I'm doing well, thank you," Clara replied shyly.

The woman patted her cheek and nodded, "Be right back; fresh off the oven. Fill you right up."

They watched her move with a wobble towards a back room and after a moment, Clara let out a small groan as she smelled the freshly baked bread. "_Are you kidding me_?" She breathed.

"I know," the Doctor murmured in her ear.

They took a loaf and a small wrapped pack of fresh sliced cheese and thanked the woman who gave Clara another long hug and Clara could have sworn the old woman was praying in a mumbled mess of words under her breath. She thanked her again and they moved back out onto the road, Clara looping her arm through the Doctor's as they made their way over the uneven surface carefully towards the grassy field beside and then out to the flowers that, true to the Doctor's word, were whistling with the breeze.

"It's like a wind chime," Clara turned to tell him with a bright smile and when he tilted his head back to laugh she knew she'd said the same on her first trip and she lowered her head to smirk and look over the flowers.

Their petals were lilac that faded out to a faint yellow and Clara reached out to touch one, feeling the stiff edges, as though they were made from thin wood and when she snapped one away, she frowned, as though she'd injured an animal and she glanced up to see the Doctor smiling down at her the same way he always did. Her cheeks went red as she released the petal to be lifted in the wind and carried off adding another light note to the chorus around them.

In the distance, Clara could hear the steady swirl of hums, rolling up and down the musical scale and mingling with the sounds coming from behind and she stilled when he stopped, looking up at him and telling him lightly, "I could get used to this."

The Doctor lifted his left hand to her cheek, watching his fingers push into her hair as it fluttered over his knuckles and he sighed, thumb rubbing over skin before he bent lightly and pressed a small kiss to her lips. He paused, hovering there, breath warm on her lips and Clara inched forward with a slight tilt of her head into him and she sealed her lips to his. Her heart gave a heavy thud when he worked her tongue over with his and she smiled into the movements, turning fully towards him to land her right foot between his and grip at his waistcoat

The Doctor broke the kiss off with a light laugh she mirrored and then removed his jacket from her carefully and moved to a spot to toss it down and gesture at before helping her down to sit. Clara heard him settling at her side as she looked down at the divide between her skin and the flesh color of the artificial limb that sat limp against the inside lining of the Doctor's coat. She reached down to push the button to release the prosthetic as the Doctor stopped unwrapping the cheese slices to watch her – and she knew he was watching her.

With a small grunt, she plucked the limb off her leg and then rolled the sleeve with the pin off and plucked the sock away from her stump and she laid it out as she bit her lips against the tears she felt coming. Clara leaned back on her palms and looked out at the twin suns in the sky, beginning their descent towards the horizon before she looked to the Doctor and asked, "How will I travel like this?"

He held the cheese between his fingertips, frowning at her before he shook his head and she watched his eyes well up as they reddened, Clara knew, because he understood her sudden hesitation and he understood her worry and he understood the pain she was feeling as she turned back to look at her leg. In her mind she could still feel the foot that was missing and the way she wanted to use it to kick off the shoe that remained on her left.

Clara sat up and felt her own tears fall and she smiled, sniffling and curling her right knee in, something that still ached her, as she bent to pull her shoe off to set it beside her. She felt him crawling closer to her, setting the cheese down atop the bag that still held the warm bread and he took her hands to tell her gently, "We'll travel slowly, carefully, mindful of your leg, and smartly – _just as we had before_."

Shaking her head, Clara replied sadly, "It will never be like it was before."

"Clara," he sighed, giving her hands a squeeze as he smiled and continued, "The last time we were here, we laid out just like this, two loaves between us and an assortment of fruits and we simply talked and laughed – nothing we can't do now."

She tilted her head and argued, "But this is an adventure, travelling in space."

He laughed, "Clara, life is an adventure – you aren't withdrawing from that too, because I've got some words for you if you've chosen to withdraw from every experience because it will _perhaps_, be a bit different."

Reaching for the cheese, he handed it to her and he pulled the bread out, easily tearing apart a piece with his fingers before plucking a few strips of white cheddar to settle between the halves. With a smile, he exchanged the sandwich for the cheese and nodded.

"We just had dinner; this is an insane piece of…" Clara began.

"Eat," he ordered as he chuckled, waiting for her to take a bite, eyes closing as she moaned and he told her softly, "A _bit different_ isn't bad. It's a new way to experience the universe around us and I'm more than ready to share that with my wife again." He smiled when she looked back at him, swallowing her bite down with a small grin, "Everything with you is new, even after a hundred times, and even after a hundred times more, I'll still want to experience it. With you, _and only you_." He nudged her cheek with his knuckle and lightly sighed, "My Clara."

And Clara smirked and whispered back automatically, "My Doctor."


	19. Chapter 19

Dave paced the living room, looking down at his watch. He knew it was stupid, waiting up for them as though they hadn't just flown away in a time machine. It could be hours, it could be days, or they could have arrived earlier in the evening and were already snuck up to their rooms, snoring away the night in their beds. For a moment he glanced at the stairs and considered it, but then the back door opened and he heard Clara release a quick giggle before she mumbled something back at the Doctor and when they stepped into the living room, he tried to put on his best face because he knew, from the tone in her voice, that Clara was happy.

And that's what was important. _Clara was happy_.

"Hello, sweetheart," he called, "Did you have a good trip?"

She offered a smirk, dimple deepening on her left cheek as she lifted a bag to him and then moved to give him a tight hug and a light peck on the cheek before she responded, "Wonderful, dad. Off to bed. Eat."

Making her way towards the stairs where she gripped the railing and slowly climbed up to the second floor, Dave looked to the bag now held in his hand and then up to the Doctor, asking, "Are you happy now?"

"She's happy now," he replied with a nod.

Dave smiled and released a long sigh, agreeing, "Sorry, yeah, she is – I'm glad for that."

The Doctor gestured at the bag, "You really should eat, it's late and if I know you, you've been pacing for," he swung his wrist up to glance at his watch before tilting his head with a grin, "The past two hours."

"How long have you been gone?" Dave asked as the Doctor passed him, "For you and her, how long?"

Stopping, the Doctor turned and told him honestly, "Not long, just a few hours." He admitted, "I took her to the safest planet I could think to take her," head bobbing, he narrowed his eyes at the ceiling to tell him, "Well, technically, I could have taken her to the sponges, or the third moon of Pek, but this was her favorite place and I promise you, Dave, she was completely safe."

With a quick nod, Dave raised the bag and asked, "This is familiar; do I know it?"

"Have a taste," the Doctor teased, "It'll come back to you," and he swung back around to the stairs before Dave called out to him and he stopped, hand on the edge of the rail.

"Did she remember anything new?" He began, "I mean, your theory that the more she sees, the more it would prompt her to remember – did she?"

Dropping his chin, the Doctor glanced sideways at him before sighing, "Not really; not from our travels – but she remembers her twenty first birthday, so that's progress."

Dave pressed his lips together tightly and nodded, "That's good, Doctor," then he added, "A little warning next time though," he gestured back at the yard, "Maybe tell me where you're going; when you expect to be back. Just so I don't…"

"_Worry_," the Doctor finished, "I know. I'm sorry, Dave. I understand. Though you know… now that she knows, it might be difficult not to go out again." He looked up the stairs and smiled, wanting nothing more than to get up there and give her one last kiss for the night; like the one she'd given him just as the suns had set and they'd stood, ready to depart.

It was a gesture of appreciation for the trip; for the new memories he knew she was still going over in her mind. And it had been deeper and longer than any of their previous kisses since the accident, coming with a hunger for more that he wasn't quite sure he was ready to allow, though the temptation was growing. For the both of them, he knew.

"Yeah," Dave said quickly, interrupting the Doctor's thoughts. "Suppose my time's coming to an end again then."

The Doctor turned and leaned against the railing, watching Dave move into the kitchen to pull the bread and cheese from the bag to settle on the counter. Glancing once up at the sound of her door opening and the bathroom door closing, the Doctor sighed, going into the kitchen to find Dave pulling cold cuts from the fridge to assemble a sandwich as he leaned against the entranceway to watch him, arms crossing at his chest.

"Go on," Dave laughed, "Let a man wallow with dignity."

"I'm sorry," the Doctor offered solemnly as Dave placed a jar of mayonnaise on the counter and looked up curiously at him. "We had sort of drifted off into our own world, hadn't we; before the accident."

"It's what couples do," Dave told him with a shrug. "You look after your son, or your daughter, for the time you have them and one day they move on. It's easier to hold on when they're alone, but once they're married – they start their own life together. They travel, have kids – their time is occupied now. You get them on Christmas or Easter, sometimes for a sit down here and there, but she built a life with you and that's good, Doctor – it's that life that's keeping her alive."

The Doctor nodded slowly and dropped his arms, "Everything will be different this time, Dave – she needs you to keep her alive as well." He laughed, "One thing I know about daughters: they need their fathers, more than their fathers will ever know. And _granddaughters_," he peered up at the smile on Dave's face, "One day you will understand."

"Not too soon, eh," Dave warned with a teasing tone – the same one Clara often gave him – before he took a large bite of the sandwich and uttered, "This from that Farsaswarsa place, isn't it."

Smiling, the Doctor corrected, "_Faraswara_," and then he chuckled, "And yes, it is."

Head tilting back slightly to release a satisfied sigh, Dave uttered, "Clara loves that place."

The Doctor considered him a moment and then shifted slightly before telling him, "She'll want to be moving back to our flat soon; should I try to talk her out of it?"

Dave shook his head slowly, staring at the sandwich in front of him as he spoke, "She remembers more with you, maybe it _would_ be for the best." He smiled up at him weakly, "Just…" he trailed, hanging his head to shake it and the Doctor could see him trying to work the tension out of his shoulders before he lifted his eyes again to finish, "Just make sure she's not alone when she remembers. She's gonna be devastated when she remembers."

The Doctor clenched his jaw, knowing just how right Dave was, and then he nodded and turned back to the stairs, making his way up slowly and going into the spare room to find his jammies folded neatly in one of the drawers. He changed slowly and listened as Dave creaked up the steps and checked in on Clara and then he heard the door to his room close slowly and then the house fell into silence.

Standing, he looked down at his now bare feet, ridiculously large and pale against the carpeting beneath them and with a smile he walked to Clara's room, finding her sitting up in bed, staring down at her legs. He could tell she was in a daze, mind working over some thought, and when he pushed the door open, her eyes blinked rapidly before she glanced up at him, offering an easy grin as he half-closed the door and moved to sit beside her knees, his hand coming out to land atop her right one.

"Does it bother you?" He asked.

Clara's smile faded slightly as she replied, "Does it bother _you_?"

He turned to look at her leg, understanding that they'd mostly avoided the subject, even when they both had it on their mind, and he lightly let his fingers drift over her knee and then he laid long ways on the bed, leaning on his elbow as his left hand followed the same path his right had until his fingertips passed softly over the scarred tissue a few inches beneath her knee. He smiled and leaned forward to kiss the spot as his hand shifted back to grip the flesh above it, thumb stroking her skin lovingly and when he looked back at her, she was crying.

"How many times do I have to tell you," he uttered quietly, "I love _you_, not a limb or a memory – not some bit, or even a few bits of bits, but _all of you_."

She laughed and wiped at her eyes and then nodded to her door and asked, "Could you lock that?"

The Doctor shifted, turning to look at the door that stood slightly ajar behind him, "Lock the door?"

"I want to kiss you," she admitted, "_Like before_," she added shyly, "But," her nose wrinkled, "I don't want my father walking in."

He closed his eyes to laugh softly before he stood and closed the door quietly, turning the lock and returning to the bed, sitting closer to her and watching the way her breathing quickened. He imagined her heart was pounding in her chest as his were and he raised his palm to place at the open collar of her nightgown, feeling the rough thudding there and he watched her as she felt for his own heartbeats, a smile instant when she found them.

Clara looked him over and he remained still for a moment, allowing her to initiate the kiss as she had before – slowly, delicately, curiously, and then she slipped her palm over his shoulder and pulled him to her. The Doctor's hand fell away, clamping onto her waist and he felt his head spin when her tongue drove past his lips and she leaned up into him with a small moan she immediately quieted. For a moment he remained frozen, feeling his body reacting as her other arm came up around his neck and then he grabbed hold of her and hoisted her into his lap with an exhale of satisfaction.

His fingers kneaded at her waist and he could feel her writhing slightly as he held her in place atop him, the movements causing him to harden quicker than he'd anticipated and when he broke away from her, dropping his forehead to her shoulder, he did so with a pained gasp. He stared down into her nightgown, seeing the curve of her breasts and wanted nothing more than to devour them, but he closed his eyes and when he lifted his head to meet her eyes, he found her smiling.

"You," he teased with a small grin.

"_Doctor_," she whispered, settling her forehead to his. "_I want to do more than just kiss you_."

"_Clara_," he begged, but she silenced him by clamping her teeth lightly over his bottom lip, pulling it up gently and then letting it slide free as he began to tremble with the need to let his hands roam over her body. His breathing quickened and then stopped entirely as her hand dropped down to cup over him, slowly stroking at him as he jerked slightly, his left foot rising an inch off the ground and when he opened his eyes, she was nodding, fingertips drifting to the edge of his trousers to slip her hand past the elastic at the waist, wrapping around him firmly and he saw the flash of a smile she offered before she kissed him again as her palm began to slide over him.

He released her to land his knuckles on either side of the bed behind her, guiding her back onto the pillow as she chuckled into his mouth. The Doctor smiled, drifting back to take in the mischievous look on her face as she dropped her other hand past his waistband, and his face contorted, eyes pinching shut as his brow bent and he found himself meeting the strokes of her hands with slight shifts of his hips, until he pulled back entirely and stood to drop his trousers to the ground before slowly climbing atop her again and spreading her thighs with his own, slipping a hand between her legs to tease at her exposed body as he watched the smile fade from her lips at the sudden jolt of pleasure.

Her own hand came up to clamp over her mouth when he eased himself into her and began a slow pendulum of movement against her, muting his breaths against her shoulder before kissing his way up her neck and nipping at her earlobe. Clara released a shuddered sigh and slipped her right thigh over his, then wrapped her left leg around him, urging him to move deeper and quicker, but he continued to lazily lap at her until she was ready to shout, a tingling sensation rushing inward from her extremities until it gathered just underneath her belly button and exploded around him.

The Doctor's mouth was on hers then, muting the cry she was about to liberate, and his pelvis crushed into hers, a sudden dizzying flurry of motions against her that had her seeing stars as it ignited her body unexpectedly and she couldn't contain the gasp or the low moan of his name. And then she felt him burst within her as his forehead rolled over hers and he drove himself into her deeply while she tried to control the strangled howl of ecstasy, caught in her throat, begging to be set free.

"God," was all she grunted before his lips were on hers again as he shifted back to rolling calmly in and out of her as his mouth moved down her jaw, over her neck and collar bone, and found her breasts through the nightgown. He teased at them before he shifted further, slipping out of her and dropping his head to her abdomen where he remained, thinking about the reasons he'd had for not doing what they'd just done – starting with: he hadn't wanted to chance a second pregnancy before she found out about the first – as he breathed hotly against her stomach until she finally panted, "Doctor? Are you alright?"

Lifting his head slowly, he nodded and stood, moving to take tissues from the dispenser on her nightstand, handing several to her as he cleaned himself and then retrieved his trousers to pull them on before sitting beside her as she crumpled the tissues in her hands and stared at him in confusion. "I'm sorry," he uttered, shaking his head, "I wanted that as much as you – _possibly more_ – but I don't want to hurt you, Clara."

"I firmly believe that's not possible," she told him as she grinned and reached out for his arm, holding him as she turned off the lamp on her nightstand.

Clara pulled him into the bed behind her, nuzzling into her pillow as he arranged the sheets over them and then spooned his body around hers. He wrapped an arm over her and Clara reached up to curl her fingers over his forearm, pressing a kiss into it before she closed her eyes and the Doctor waited until she'd drifted off to lean up on his elbow and swipe the hair out of her face to watch her peacefully sleep.


	20. Chapter 20

The Doctor woke to the sound of the front door closing roughly and he frowned, rolling onto his back and feeling her warm body shift with a soft sigh as she turned over and nestled herself into his side. With a smile, he glanced down at her and stroked her cheek, earning him what he'd always thought to be the most adorable wiggle of her features, scrunching and relaxing before her nose gave one final odd little sniffle. He exhaled painfully because for a time he'd imagined that same motion on the face of a sleeping infant.

"Clara," he sighed, then he repeated her name again, bending forward and kissing her forehead, waiting for her to slowly blink her eyes open up at him.

For a moment she breathed softly against his shirt, simply staring up at him and he felt the urge to cry building within him because he could still hear her voice in his head asking with a laugh, "_Do you think she'll sleep like a human, or like a Gallifreyan? Because you never sleep, Doctor, and I don't know if I could handle that schedule_."

Somehow he always found himself thinking of their baby first thing in the morning. Knew it was because it was when they spoke about her the most, lying in bed, just after she'd woken. They were already spending more and more time on Earth and Clara had begun talking about daycares and buying a home with him and wondering who their daughter would take after and whether she'd have two hearts and his foolish ears. He loved to listen to her ramble on as she lay stretched on her side next to him, night shirt tugged up just underneath her breasts so that her hand sat over the small mound her stomach was becoming.

Her forehead came together tightly and she shifted up, asking him quickly, "What's wrong?"

Laughing, he shook his head and pulled her back down atop him, and said, "Nothing, Clara, nothing is wrong – everything is _very right_."

Her fingernails made circles over his chest, writing words she didn't yet understand, but were burned into her muscle memory, "_I love you_," and he took a long breath as she asked, "I've got nothing to do today, do you think maybe we could _travel_ a bit?"

"Well," he began with a shrug, "We are supposed to get you walking, up and about, trying to get back into your normal routine of activities," he glanced down to catch her chuckling as she shifted her left leg over his thigh to nudge at him provocatively with her knee. "Not those sorts of activities, Clara," he laughed as she glanced up at him with an innocent smirk.

She inched up, leaning her chin atop his breast to ask, "Were we not sexually active before, Doctor?"

He watched her bite her lip, trying to contain a laugh as he momentarily fumbled with an answer before he narrowed his eyes at her to say, "Yes, Clara, we were."

And she responded with a smile to let him know she knew, even without the memory, just off his performance, and it burned his cheeks. With a small sigh, she turned away from him and pulled herself into a sitting position, tossing back the sheets to look down at herself. He could see the momentary sorrow in her eyes, the way her shoulders slumped a bit at the sight of her leg, just before she shook it off, turning and reaching for the crutch at her bedside to make her way to the bathroom.

The Doctor launched himself out of bed and he trudged to the other bedroom to rummage for clothes. He grinned at the assortment of dress shirts and waistcoats he was starting to amass in the closet and he turned when he heard the shower start up in the hall. "_Invite myself for a shower_, or use her _father's_," he questioned quietly, debating, "You've _already_…" he trailed, jaw working slightly from side to side before he walked out and over to the bathroom door to knock lightly. "Clara?"

"Sorry," she called, "Did you need to use the toilet?"

He turned the knob and entered slowly, smiling when he saw her staring out at him from where she sat on a small chair inside of the tub. "No, I just," he began, turning away momentarily, free hand balling into a fist as he considered the question before he simply asked, "I thought we might share a bath."

Clara laughed, gesturing down and telling him plainly, "There's not a whole lot of space."

"I don't take up a lot of space," he argued, stepping inside the room and shifting awkwardly as he became suddenly aware of her nakedness. It seemed like it'd been forever since he'd seen her so unabashedly exposed and he swallowed roughly as he finished, "Standing upright."

She shrugged, "Suppose an extra set of hands would help."

For a moment he eyed her because she was smirking to herself as she let the curtain drop back. The Doctor stripped himself quickly and when he pulled the curtain fully open, Clara was dropping soap onto a red loofah, beginning to wash herself as he moved slowly into the tub and reached for a wash cloth. Clara laughed as he picked up the showerhead and set it back in its holder up top to step under the current, his whole body relaxing as the hot water soaked him and she looked the Doctor over as he slowly turned back to her, hands coming up to set the cloth at his shoulder as he rubbed his face.

She continued to lazily wash herself, eyes dropping along his neck and chest and then his stomach and finally his flaccid penis, biting her lip against the urge to tease him until he took a step forward and touched her temple, shocking her out of a daydream that stained her skin red as she met his amused look. _Knowing what she was thinking_. The notion of him having the upper hand in their scenario frustrated her and she turned away with a soft sigh as he took the soap and dropped a glob onto the cloth, immediately working to lather his shoulders and chest and Clara turned her attention back to herself as she listened to him hum.

"We should have gone into the Tardis," he called back, "Much larger bathing space and I can have her adjust for your leg, a dozen seats if you want," he turned and his hair sent a splash of water down at her that made her lift her hands and laugh, "I could have her create a flexible stand with a socket for your leg, so you could… _stand_."

Clara chuckled and wiped at her eyes with her arm and replied, "It's alright, Doctor, I don't mind the sitting."

"Oh," he shrugged, rinsing himself off as Clara continued to wash and when she finally moved to run the loofah over her legs, she sighed and found him bending in front of her, his hands stopping hers to take the red item from her with a smile, "Allow me," he told her and the words sent gooseflesh rising over her body as she nodded.

She'd been bathed by a nurse at the hospital several times, much to her frustration, and while the woman there had been gentle and caring, the Doctor's touch was something entirely different. He stroked over her thighs with the loofah first and then his fingers, as if working the soap into her skin until they were both white with foam and then he delicately cleaned her stump, holding her leg carefully as she gripped the rails on either side of the chair, trying to control her breathing because the look of concentration on his face, coupled with the way his fingers continually massaged at her, were warming her more than the steam from the water.

He smiled as he moved to her other leg, eyes darting up to see the flushed look on her face and she realized, he was turning her on on purpose and so she offered a small grin of her own, just enough to freeze his movements and, she could see, begin to affect him the same. The Doctor turned his eyes to her calf in his hand, scrubbing in gentle circles before winding his fingers over it, down to her foot. A foot she lifted to nudge his chin playfully and they both laughed.

Clara imagined if she were truly twenty one, a moment like this would have been awkward – scandalous even – but it felt normal and the thought furrowed her brow as he shifted back up and plucked the showerhead into his hand, slowly rinsing the suds off her body and finally rinsing her hair before searching for shampoo, but before he could pull it down, she took hold of his member, massaging him between her palms as he jerked and dropped the showerhead with a quick, "_Clara_."

Wordlessly, she shifted forward and swallowed him whole, slowly releasing him back to the cooler air inside the shower, and she felt his hands hesitate at either side of her head, wanting to grab hold of her, but unable to control their small flails to do so. He huffed out a breath when he finally sat fully back against her fingers and Clara imagined she should let him breathe; should let him counter her actions, but she dove forward again instead as his hands clamped down on her shoulders.

His hips remained still, rigidly so as her hands drifted to massage at his sides before cupping just underneath his buttocks to hold him. And Clara hungrily worked to build his erection, easing her mouth over him gently and circling his head with her tongue until he began shifting into her. Her right hand came around to massage him carefully as she took him in deep enough to make him croak above her and when she shifted back he whispered her name softly just before she moved onto him again.

Clara groaning against his own fingers now kneading at her upper back, thumbs pressing trails of circles and then slipping back up until he jerked and she took him in, tasting the salty fruits of her labor for a fraction of a second before he slipped away, breathing roughly as he brought himself to his knees and stroked at himself, one hand still settled lightly atop her shoulder.

Clara watched him trying to calm his breathing, watched his movements slow before he finally looked up at her darkly and smiled, offering, "_That_," with a nod of his head, "Was not fair."

She shrugged and leaned forward to kiss him and he wrapped his arms around her and when his lips travelled to her neck, she uttered absently, "I miss you."

The Doctor dropped his hands to the railing on either side of her as he inched back and watched her sniffle lightly and he understood, without her saying a word, that it was another of those feelings she couldn't explain. She missed him because they'd been physically apart for two months and she _craved_ him now that they were finally together. He smiled with her as he leaned forward and closed his mouth over her collar, sucking as she gasped before kissing his way down to her breasts, then to her stomach, nuzzling at her with his chin before he moved his hands around her, dragging her forward on the chair to bend himself to run his tongue over her quick enough to make her jump.

He chuckled and heard her do the same as her hands rounded his head and her knees spread and he offered her one final rise of his eyebrow with a devious grin before he nudged at her with his nose and then kissed at her. Clara felt his hands coming up behind her to cradle her, knowing instinctively that what he was doing would cause her to curl herself into him, urging him to explore her and she shouted out when his tongue lapped strongly over her just before his mouth closed, lips giving her a gentle tug that sent a shock through her.

Nestling into her, he breathed hotly over her as she shuddered in his hold and then he slowly slid his tongue just inside of her and gave her a light flick before withdrawing. She released a hard breath when he did it a second time and as he continually teased at her, he curled his left arm securely around her before bringing his right hand down to dab the edge of his finger into her, diverting his mouth to her nub as his finger began an easy motion within her.

Her left foot pressed into the tub beside his shoulders and Clara trusted he wouldn't drop her as she relaxed into his grip, gasping delightedly when he added a second finger. The Doctor knowingly gave his hand a twist, touching at a sensitive spot and when Clara began to pant, she heard him laugh, muffled against her. He searched until she shouted out and then he concentrated his effort there, digits curling into her several times before he withdrew and then dove in anew, his tongue continuing its assault on her until he straightened, sacrificing her sweet flavor to leverage her body into a better hold as he worked a quickening rhythm into her, lips finding her right breast to latch onto, tongue swirling over her hardened nipple before he shifted to her left with a moan she mirrored.

Clara released a squeak, arching back slightly as each stroke brought her closer and closer until she took hold of his upper arm and let loose a series of whimpers that made him shudder alongside her. He slowed his hand, feeling her throbbing around his fingers, and then he rounded her with both arms and closed his mouth over her, licking meticulously as she offered small twitches in response to accompany the gasps of moans he was eliciting.

When she finally began to straighten, hands finding his shoulders, he smiled and rested his chin against her right thigh, palm settling itself against her stump to ask, "Ready to see stars, Clara?"

With a loud laugh and a wet smack against his skin, she bent forward and met his forehead halfway, replying quietly, "Always."


	21. Chapter 21

Clara couldn't imagine she'd ever get used to the way it felt when the Tardis swung through the time vortex and, looking at the man who stood beside her laughing happily, she knew he hadn't gotten used to it either. With a small smile as she gripped the edge of the console, she understood it wasn't the motions that were turning their stomachs delightfully – it was the unknown destination and knowing when they arrived, they would head out together to explore it.

And for the first time in weeks, she truly felt like she was alive again – like she was part of her own world again and she knew it was him. All of the time spent sheltering her from this secret; holding her back from becoming his entirely… it had taken its toll, leaving her confused and in the dark, but now? The Tardis landed and she watched him swing a lever and turn with a bright grin she mimicked, eyes wide and waiting, and she felt like the world had suddenly become vivid.

"Where've we landed?" She asked, because he'd purposely not told her where they were headed.

"Still a surprise," he teased, leaning forward and giving her nose a small poke with his forefinger.

The Doctor reached for her hand and she could see the sigh of relief he released when she took it quickly, fingers wrapping over his without hesitation and she knew, instantly, he'd been suffering for their separation as well and the notion tickled her gut knowing how much he'd been longing for this. Clara laughed because she knew she wasn't the only one who'd been saturated with new life and she enjoyed watching him twirl around her with an easy laugh. The burden of keeping the Tardis from her; keeping his identity from her; keeping their world from her had lifted from his shoulders and with that weight gone, he was lighter, faster, happier, and seeing him floating about gave her energy she didn't know she'd had.

They moved quickly together towards the doors and Clara's left arm circled around his at her right as their hands remained clasped at her hip. She giggled up at him and she watched the smile shift on his face, dropping from excitement to admiration and for a moment they simply stared at one another.

"I love you," he finally uttered, right hand coming up to caress her cheek.

She wanted to be flippant; some part of her told her to be, to shrug and offer a quick _I know_, but her heart skipped at the look he was giving her, reminding her of the tender way he'd helped her finish bathing, sprinkling her body with kisses afterwards. She could still feel every feather-light touch of his lips against her skin, as though they'd marked her, and she quietly replied, "I love you."

Clara understood, in the way he continued to look over her – even after she'd said the words – they meant so much more than a conveying of feeling and she found herself suddenly hating herself for not remembering how they met, or how they first began travelling. Clara wished she could recall, with as much ease as she could the feel of his fingers over her skin from just a short time ago, what he'd looked like, the moment she first laid eyes on him. She finally turned to the doors and heard him chuckle, pulling them open, and as she stared out at the yellow sky and the mess of caverns just a few feet away she wondered where they'd first gone.

_What had been their first adventure_?

"Caves," she stated with a lop-sided smile.

He raised a finger and offered, "Not _just_ caves," and she waited, glancing up at him as they began walking towards them, a buzz of excitement building through her body as she carefully maneuvered the rocky landscape, mindful of her prosthetic and thankful he'd warned her to wear trainers. "They used to be just caves, until the first visitors arrived and soon after, just months really, they began to notice the sparkling bits of newness growing about them. And then the _just_ caves became _extraordinary_ caves filled with the largest jewels for galaxies. Miners have been harvesting from them for centuries and they'll continue on until there are no miners left."

Shaking her head, Clara pointed out, "But if there are no miners left, wouldn't the jewels grow rampant?"

"That's the thing, Clara, before the miners, they were just caves – _there were no jewels_."

"But then, how did the jewels start to grow," she began before straightening and asking, "The miners brought the jewels; how did the miners bring the jewels? You can't simply grow jewels, can you?"

He shrugged, "Why not? Isn't that how all jewels begin? Speck of dust under just the right circumstances in a clam's mouth yields a pearl; spot of coal condensed over a million years becomes a diamond."

"Millions of years though, Doctor," Clara shot, "You said months."

"Like a clam," he offered.

"They bring specs of dust and…" she looked down at her feet, at the rough surface not actually made of rock and she barked, "Living planet?"

He laughed, "Giant clam, we're standing on the outer shell."

"The caves are mouths?" Her face contorted and he pointed.

"Not, exactly, like a mouth; more like pores."

"Oh," she nodded, still slightly sickened at the thought. "Wait, are we going into the pores? Like pores on a face? A porous face? And we're stepping inside?"

"How else will we see the jewels?" He shot, raising a hand and letting it fall against his thigh as she laughed, taking in the smirk he gave her in response as they began to walk.

They huddled together as they approached one of the darkened openings and Clara glanced around, trying to imagine how they were going to see, when suddenly the area at her side lit up and she began to stutter in confusion before simply stating, "Doctor?"

"Bioluminescence, _forgot to mention that_… what forms here retains the general genetics of the planet it came from and these," he gestured, "These come from a planet with bioluminescence in their biological bag of tricks – probably Yorsithania, they operate large mining equipment and send frequent expeditions out into this part of the universe – and they've trudged through these caves, leaving behind that footprint, if you will. Generally motion activated, did you breathe on it?"

"Might have," she replied with a tilt of her head before she glanced down at her feet to see the spot they were standing on was slightly glowing. Clara giggled and they stopped, several feet in, as she reached out and gave a rock a tap and frowned when it remained dark.

The Doctor laughed and sighed, "Well they can't all be imbued with the same properties. Some light up, some are just rocks."

"Got that," she chuckled, "But bless you."

He froze again and she sighed, having gotten used to knowing when she'd repeated something from their past, slipping out of his grasp to make her way carefully to the wall to begin running her hands along the rocks, gasping excitedly when spots lit up underneath her fingers and began illuminating her path. The Doctor followed, his own hand reaching out to their right and soon they were deep within the darkness, a trail of lights behind them the Doctor assured would lead them back out.

"Clara," he called, bending, and she carefully made her way towards him, planting her hands on her knees as she bent to get a better look at what he was pointing at and she laughed before he plucked the red ruby-looking rock out of the wall to hand her.

Holding it and straightening, she watched him shift up, dusting his hands on his pants as she asked, "But Doctor, are we allowed to simply take this?"

With a smirk, he reached for her hands, wrapped around the rock, and he raised it slightly, telling her quietly, "Look at it."

She felt her lips twist into a grin and she narrowed her eyes as she tried to look at the jewel she held in the dim light and after a moment she gasped and gestured at it, mouth falling open as she said, "My mum's ring is in there; my name, that says this belongs to me."

Nodding, he explained, "You wanted to grow your own; thought it might be fun, if no one took it."

"We've been here!" Clara laughed, "You and me, we've been here, months ago."

He reached out and she began to hand him the rock, but he laughed and raised his brow as he waited for her hand and when Clara took it, he began to lead her further into the cave. She inched closer to him, watching every other step light up underneath them and she lifted the jewel to tap at the wall to her left, smiling each time one came to life, listening to him chuckling. She wanted to ask where they were going, but she knew he wouldn't tell her. He enjoyed the surprise and, being honest with herself, she enjoyed it as well. Knowing that when she looked up and met his eyes she would find happiness in them instead of sad frustration, Clara was willing to walk along in the dark for a time.

"Almost there," he whispered.

Her giggle echoed and after a moment they came to a stop and he turned to her, looking around before pulling the Sonic out of his pocket and lifting it straight up to set it off with a loud buzz that resonated throughout the cave. Above them was suddenly brilliantly lit and Clara shifted her gaze there, seeing the rocks sparkle out from the space over them, light crawling over the walls like water until they were bathed in that glow and she looked to him them, seeing the satisfaction on his face.

"We weren't here months ago, Clara," he told her quietly, "In our own timeline, we were here four years ago and here, right here on this spot, I stood here and proposed to you."

She laughed and nodded slowly, feeling her eyes well up slightly because she couldn't imagine he would propose to her any other way in that moment. No fancy dinner or public display could ever be more appropriate or romantic than them standing inside of a glowing pore on a living planet. Her thumb moved over the band on his finger and she smiled up at him. "And I said _you're insane_."

The Doctor laughed heartily and nodded, "_Something_ like that, but then," he dropped down, "I went on one knee because I thought you'd thought I _was_ insane; I thought you thought I wasn't being serious." He held her left hand in his, massaging at her palm and fingers softly as his brow came together, "Me, a thousand year old alien – _why would I want to marry a silly human_?" He smiled up at her and his forehead relaxed as he continued, "And I needed you to know that there was nothing in the universe I wanted more than to spend the last of my days with you. _My_ Clara Oswald… _my impossible girl_." Glancing around, he offered, "And I told you then that you were the light in my darkness, like the rocks around us, and you were my path through the unknown," he nodded back towards the tunnel through which they'd come, illuminated as far as they could see, and he told her firmly, "You're my way home, leaving your traces through my entire life, continually leading me to you, because you _are_ my home."

Clara took a long breath, watching him as he removed her ring and held it, tracing a finger over the words etched into the sides and she breathed, "You are my light."

He laughed and she could hear his tears, "That's what I had inscribed on your ring in the language of my people and what's written on mine is what you said to me that day."

"_And you are mine_," Clara replied automatically. Her head shook slightly as she blinked, wetting her cheeks before she admitted, "I don't remember, _but I do_ – I know I do, _somewhere_."

Nodding, he sighed, "I know – I know it's there Clara and if you never get it back on your own, I'll help you know it when you can't remember because what was true four years ago is still true: You are my light; you are my everything." He glanced up at her and asked her quietly, "Clara _Oswald_, am I still yours?"

With a sigh and a small smile as he slipped her ring back on, she dropped her forehead to his, hands grasping at his shoulders as she nodded and whispered, "For all of our days."


	22. Chapter 22

Dave entered their flat first with her suitcase held tightly in his hands, listening to them exchanging giggles and whispers behind him and he took a long breath, settling it down just inside the living room before turning to make his way back to the door in time to see the Doctor launching Clara off the ground and into his arms with a shared laugh. "For God's sake," he muttered. "You're gonna knock her against the coat rack!"

But the Doctor moved over the threshold and carefully carried her into the living room where he lowered her onto the couch with a long kiss that made the man beside them groan. "Sorry, dad," Clara muttered through an embarrassed chuckle and she watched him shake his head and wave a hand, tossing her an amused look to let her know he wasn't upset before he headed back to the car to retrieve the last of her belongings while the Doctor stepped back to the hall for two other bags they'd settled there.

"Home," she breathed as he set them down next to the first and the Doctor watched her lay back against the couch, feeling his heartbeats relax at the familiar sight in front of him. She used to come home from school and tell him she needed a few minutes to detox from the insanity of her students as he finished cooking their dinner and she'd splay her arms out at either side, stretching her back and closing her eyes. And there would always be that smile just before she pushed off to rush across the hall to see what he'd made.

He sat next to her and brushed a hand over her cheek, thumb drifting over her ear softly as she turned to smile up at him and he could see the relief in her eyes. The knowledge that the first portion of her recovery – the physical portion – was complete and now came the recovery of her life. The memories she hoped to bring back and the job she wanted to learn more about and their travelling. They smiled together because somewhere they'd started making a list. He supposed it was tucked into an old book they were both familiar with.

"Do you want to go lie down a while? Your father and I could work on dinner?" The Doctor offered quietly as she sighed again, watching him.

"Have I told you how wonderful you are?" Clara asked, eyes narrowed as he bent forward to peck at her lips lightly.

Standing, he pointed, "_You're_ wonderful; I'm merely responding in kind."

She laughed easily and the sound filled him with satisfaction as he walked towards the kitchen to rummage through the fridge and then the cabinets, grinning as she shouted, "Are there fish fingers?"

Rounding the corner, hand gripped to the entranceway, he smiled eagerly and added, "It wouldn't be our home without fish fingers and custard."

Dave entered lugging Clara's collapsed wheelchair and he glanced around as he uttered, "I'm not eating fish fingers and custard – just the words are enough to turn my stomach."

"Doctor," Clara called on a laugh, "Make dad some chips."

"_Fresh out_," he shouted back.

"Sorry dad, just fish fingers for you," she teased

Laughing lightly, Dave settled her chair next to the couch and frowned at it, admitting, "There's really not room for you to get around in this."

The Doctor stepped back into the living room and looked from Clara to her wheelchair to Dave before he planted his hands at his waist and offered, "Suppose there's only one thing left to do then."

Dave pointed and barked, "You're not moving onto the Tardis!"

"No, Dave," the Doctor laughed, raising a hand to clap to his shoulder before nodding to Clara, "We're going to need a house; one that's more accommodating to Clara's needs."

Her lips rose instantly as she mouthed, "A house?"

The Doctor smirked as she stood and took the few small steps to him to lift her arms around his neck to hold him tightly as he kissed her temple and he could feel Dave rub a hand at his back before the man picked up one of Clara's bags to take to their bedroom. "A proper home, Clara," the Doctor whispered as she slipped back and grinned up at him.

"Had we talked about getting a house before?" She questioned.

Nodding, he scratched at his head, laughing nervously to admit, "You wanted a few bedrooms; we'd started looking, but things were fairly busy – you were preoccupied with other things."

Her smile widened and her eyes rounded the room before she gave her hips a slightly twist and nodded to tell him, "Four bedrooms, two and a half baths maybe? I'd love a large home."

"Some place between UNIT and the school," he added.

"Perfect," she breathed.

"Four bedrooms?" He questioned, with a laugh as his hands dropped to her waist and for a moment he looked her over with the cold snap of panic rolling through his body before she shrugged.

Clara watched the way his breathing had quickened as his eyes shifted away from hers and she opened her mouth to reply, but Dave stepped back into the room with a clap of his hands as he asked, "So dinner, yeah? We were gonna work on that, Doctor, while she settled in?"

Laughing, the Doctor nodded to Dave and then towards the bedroom as he looked back to Clara, "Go on, get yourself in order."

She slowly walked away, passing another curious glance back at him before she made her way down the hall and into the bedroom where she focused on opening each drawer to examine their contents. Most were bare, her father and husband having brought her clothes and undergarments for her to wear while they'd been away from this home, so she set herself to unpacking.

Clara hummed lightly as she filled each drawer and she smiled when she found a set of his jammies, placing hers beside them to admire them together; the red frilly lace and satin folded neatly next to his cartoon characters. She drifted to her closet, pulling back the wooden accordion doors and stepping inside to take a stack of hangers back to her bed to begin sorting her dresses, smoothing their fabric atop her comforter before lifting them to smile at them and then carry them back to the closet. She hadn't realized her father was standing in the doorway, watching her, and when she emerged, thinking to go check on the men who'd been too quiet in the other room, she smiled as she caught him leaned against the frame with his arms crossed, a calm smirk on his lips.

"I'm gonna miss you at home, sweetie," he told her honestly on a sigh.

She reached for him, falling into his embrace and telling him as she laid her head at his shoulder, "I promise we'll visit, dad. He told me we hadn't made a good habit of it before, but we will change that."

Clara could feel him nodding, and then he spoke quietly, "If you need anything – _anything_ Clara – I'm one phone call away."

Pulling back, she laughed, seeing his reddened eyes and she lifted a knuckle to swipe at his cheeks as his tears rolled over them and she nodded, "I know, dad. You're always a call away."

With a firm nod, he stated, "Always."

An hour later Clara was closing the door behind her father, turning back to find the Doctor settling himself into the couch with a sigh and a rub of his palm over his face. For a moment she watched him, arms crossing as she leaned into the wall, taking the weight off her right leg and then he opened his eyes and smiled up at her, beckoning her over with a small nod of his head. Clara went to him, sitting on his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck and they laughed together quietly because they were finally _home_.

The thought still made her stomach tingle anxiously because while she held deep unexplainable feelings for the man holding her steady, she only had a few months worth of memories with him. "Would you rather I slept on the couch for a while," he asked her, voice barely audible, exhausted from the day's packing and moving – because he insisted on taking care of it all for her.

The Doctor had washed her clothes and folded them up and packed them away. He'd searched out everything he'd brought to her father's place from theirs and now he knew he'd have to enter that room to find where she'd decided it would all go and hope she'd put it all back the same… or he'd have a helluva time finding his pants. He looked over her face, the calm smile settled there as she shook her head and leaned forward to kiss him lightly, fingers of her right hand smoothing the skin at the back of his neck as her left arm clung to his back.

"I want you next to me," she whispered into him.

He nodded against her forehead and sighed, "It's alright, if you want to move slowly back into…"

But Clara interrupted, "I want _you_ next to _me_."

He chuckled, but it was cut short, her lips meeting his delicately until she shifted into him, taking a breath and smiling against him before backing away and he breathed, "I suppose you want me next to you right now."

"The thought had crossed my mind," she teased and she watched his eyebrows rise along with the corners of his mouth and before she could say another word, he stood with her in his arms, rushing through the hall and dropping her onto the bed to pounce atop her while she laughed. Clara raised a finger, removing the prosthetic to settle safely on the nightstand before she fell back against the bed with a giggle.

Pressing his knuckles into the comforter at her sides, he dove for her, sighing as she clutched at his shirt, tugging him to lay on her and he stretched his arms, hands drifting over her sides and tucking themselves under her shoulders and into her hair. She opened herself to him and moaned while he thrust himself against her and the Doctor felt his head spinning as they worked each other out of their clothes, Clara encouraging him past the doubts in his mind – the small voice that told him to stop – with desperate grasps at his skin, little calls of his name, tender rubs of the heel of her left foot over his backside.

He nibbled her earlobe and sucked his way over her neck and then laid his forehead against her shoulder as they rocked together until they were both spent, curled up in each other's arms. He considered just how different it had been from the night in her bedroom just a few days before, how much more comfortable she seemed – how much more natural it felt – and he knew it was their home. At her father's place, he had the reminder, fresh in his mind, that she was twenty one in her head; she still had memories to find. At her father's place she had the same notion constantly picking away at her; that she was incomplete… flawed.

Here they were at home and they could easily forget.

Here she was just Clara and they were just making love as they often did after a long day, or if she woke too early in the morning, or in the middle of an afternoon for no reason at all. Here, he thought as he stroked a hand over her hair and felt her shift against him, bringing her knees over his thigh to rest them there as she'd always done before; here she was free in a way he knew she could never feel in her father's home. And as she reached up for his face, bringing it down to kiss casually as he curled his body around hers, ready to make love to her a second time just as they laid, he understood that what she wanted – _what she'd been wanting from the start_ – was going headlong into her life as it was and she'd _finally_ gotten her wish.

The Doctor slowly slid into her and he inched back to watch her eyes close as she released a small moan of pleasure and when she finally took a breath and opened her eyes, it was with a smirk of appreciation, shifting her body and slipping her right knee over his hip. She trusted the memories they'd made; Clara trusted him completely off just their new memories and as he curled a hand over her stomach to hold her steady while he carefully began to work himself into her, kissing her against the groans he was eliciting, he couldn't help but feel he was betraying her.

Still keeping one delicate secret from her.

He abruptly pulled away as he came and she let out a surprised shout, pushing herself to sit up carefully and look down at the mess he'd left on the comforter before looking up at him as he muttered, "I'm sorry."

"What was that about?" Clara shouted in confusion.

"I'll wash the sheets," he told her with a shake of his head, standing and gesturing at her to get up before beginning to tug the comforter off the bed.

Clara reached out for her crutch, moving to stand, but she asked forcefully, "Doctor, what was that about? _What happened_?"

He stood at the edge of the bed with his head bowed and the sheets bunched in both hands and he admitted, "I don't want you to get pregnant, not straight off – I was hoping you'd have your memories before we started trying to have a family again."

She released a huff, fingers of her left hand grazing over her belly before she pointed out, "It's not like a sport; you can't pull out on the third go." Then she shrugged and told him, "Besides, I got put on birth control at the hospital – the odds of pregn…"

"I'm sorry," he interrupted, reaching up to scratch at his bangs and then he moved with the comforter into the hallway before coming back in, "I need pants, trousers," Clara opened a drawer at her left and she tugged out a set of jammies and tossed them at his waiting hands. "Clara, I'm sorry," he muttered for a third time before disappearing and Clara heard the front door open and close a moment later.

She touched her stomach and bit her lip, looking to the bed sadly, realizing being at her father's had brought with it a set of complexities, but being here might be no different. Dropping back onto the bed, she threw her crutch against the closet doors and watched it clatter to the ground before she wrapped her arms around herself and then turned and fell into the sheets, rolling herself up in them and settling herself into his pillow to sleep.


	23. Chapter 23

The morning came with a deafening silence and Clara opened her eyes slowly to look at the wall across from her in confusion, momentarily forgetting where she was. Then she heard his sigh. Slowly unraveling herself from the sheets, she slipped over the bed and looked down at herself, surprised to find he'd managed to clothe her while she slept – just a simple shirt and knickers, but enough so that she wasn't forced to step away from the bed naked.

Her mind retraced the night before, the way everything had been going so well and then in one swift shift of his body away from hers on a grunt it had crumbled. She'd listened to him pacing the hallway and, at some point, he'd come to sit on the bed and he'd apologized quietly once more as she pretended to be sleeping, and then she'd fallen asleep, lost to some dream about driving a motorbike through space while wondering if it were truly a dream.

It was the thought that plagued her, since finding out about the Tardis – how many of her dreams, the things she woke to with a light laugh, had been foggy memories trying to resurface? Suddenly the possibilities seemed endless and as she reached for her crutch, finding it in its normal spot against the nightstand, she sighed up at the man she could see standing in the hallway, looking in on the other room. The yellow room that turned her stomach enough to nauseate her for no discernible reason. Or, she thought to herself, perhaps there had been a reason and she simply couldn't remember.

Clara lifted herself to make her way to the door, seeing the small turn of his head and the shy smile on his lips before he curled his body around the doorframe to look at her. There were tears on the rims of his eyelids and she glanced beside him, into the room that sat brightly and eerily empty despite its furnishings and she nodded slowly because she didn't want to ask him about the tears, but at the same time, she wanted to kiss them from his eyes and bury him in her chest and tell him it was fine.

Entering the room, she crossed the open space in the middle and peered out the window, smiling down at the field below and she felt him step up behind her, one arm wrapping around her just underneath her breasts while the other moved to embrace her shoulders, letting her rest her chin on his forearm. "I'm so sorry, Clara," he whispered and for some reason she felt it was about more than just last night.

She offered a light peck of her lips to his skin and purred back, "It's alright."

He laughed, quiet and shortly, and then asked, "Where would you like to go today?"

Shaking her head, she turned to look up at him, eyes closing against his kiss to the scar on her temple, and she told him plainly, "I think you should go to work."

The Doctor began to say her name, but then stopped and stated, "You want things to go back to normal."

Shrugging, she offered, "How is anything supposed to be normal if my life can't be?" Gripping tightly to her crutch, she turned as he released her and she took a long breath, watching the way his arms hung limp at his sides as his shoulders slumped. "I know you don't want to leave me here by myself, but It's ok – this is my home and I need to get comfortable in it again." Clara laughed, "I am comfortable here, but I have to re-learn it and I can't do that with you over my shoulder."

"I could help you," he offered.

"I know," she breathed, "I know you can and I know you want to and I appreciate it, but right now I need to feel like everything's gone back to the way it was. Dad's at work; you're at work, and I'm here in my home sorting things for myself."

"What if you need me?" He asked, wincing slightly and she knew it was because he didn't want her to feel as though she should need him for mundane tasks.

Clara took a step towards him and she smiled up at him, shaking her head, "I need you, Doctor, I just need to start my life again and that might mean I take a trip to the market by myself, or visit a shop by myself, or make my way to the school by myself." She sighed, "I need to know that I can do the things I used to and if I need you – if I need _you_, Doctor – I _will_ call you."

Body straightening, he smiled and reached out for her face, cupping it within his hands before kissing her gently and then backing away with a nod, "I'll start at half days then, if that's alright by you."

She laughed and nodded, grinning when he kissed her again, "Half days, sounds like the start of a plan."

"A brilliant plan," he agreed, sliding back from her and twirling to head towards the bathroom in their room where she heard the shower rush on and Clara sighed, turning and giving the yellow room a once over, eyes lingering on the bare wall at her right.

She couldn't help but feel something was missing from the wall and she shifted to stare at it, so lost in thought she'd missed him turning the water off and emerging with a burgundy towel wrapped at his waist and when he cleared his throat, she jerked slightly in response, laughing as she looked back at him. Clara gestured up at the wall and offered, "It's a bit bare – I was thinking I could hang something, or paint something there…"

"Paint?" He repeated quickly.

"Dunno," she shrugged, twisting her palm around the handle of her crutch before smiling, "Butterflies would be nice."

The Doctor's fingernails dug into the doorframe as he watched the satisfied look on her face and he lowered his eyes to the ground, uttering quietly, "Yes, Clara, butterflies would be nice," before he swiftly turned back to the room to dress and make sense of the mess of hair on his head. She was seated on the couch with a sketch pad in her lap when he finally stepped out, pushing his arms into the sleeves of his purple coat and he felt his chest constrict tightly when he saw the image she'd drawn.

Nothing fancy, just her simple doodles. He had the exact same _simple doodle_ stored away in a room on the Tardis; a room that held all of their baby's belongings; a room with strict parameters not to allow Clara entrance. A room created to be her nursery while they travelled that he had a hard time erasing from the Tardis databanks because _it was his daughter's room_. Approaching Clara, he forced a smile as she beamed up at him, twisting the image up for him to see and she nodded quickly, glancing back down.

"I found some paint in the closet; _perfect_ colors for this!" Clara chirped and he winced because he'd forgotten the paint and when she looked up, she asked, "Had I intended to do this before? You're acting weird about it."

Releasing a small laugh, he admitted, "Yes, you had – you were going to make a mural in that room and we'd gone to pick out paints for you to work with, but the project was put on hold."

"I knew I would never just paint a wall _yellow_," she muttered to herself, adding small flourishes to a butterfly's wing and shifting back to admire it. Clara glanced up at the Doctor, "So, half day, you'll be back around lunchtime then?"

Hesitating, the Doctor gestured back at the hall and asked, "Clara, is there really a point in painting if we're just going to move soon?"

She shrugged and told him quietly, "Thought it'd be therapeutic; should I not?"

The Doctor exhaled and smiled, then replied, "If it will make you feel better, then paint."

With an appreciative smile, she repeated, "So, see you at lunch."

He moved towards her and bent to peck a kiss to her temple, telling her softly, "Yes, Clara, lunch."

Grinning up at him, Clara offered a small sigh and he turned to do a quick twirl as she giggled before he rushed out the front door and she remained seated with the pad in her lap, lips dropping slowly as she set the drawing aside and grabbed her crutch. Clara moved back to the second bedroom to have another look around it because it was nagging at something in the back of her mind she couldn't explain. Something that set her nerves on edge and made her eyes water.

The paints had been pushed to the back of a closet that sat bare. Completely empty of anything and she imagined that maybe she'd decided guests should have their space, but she couldn't understand why the closet in their bedroom was crammed with belongings while this one sat empty – as though deliberately cleared. Had they been expecting company before the accident; company that had to be turned away when she'd crashed? Finger lightly tracing the scar above her eyebrow, Clara slowly looked over the room one last time before she let out a long sigh and went to shower.

And it bothered her there too. Small spots in the cabinetry, enough to fit a box or a trinket, or larger gaps that felt too much to her like something was missing. When she moved back into the bedroom, body still moist and wrapped tightly in a towel, she noticed it there as well. There'd been far too few things to fill the drawers and she'd left spaces she hadn't considered the night before, but now it struck her as odd. She'd never had space in her dresser at home; how did she have space here.

Or rather, _why_?

Clara pulled on a light dress quickly, and carefully set the prosthetic to her stump, mindful to lock it before she began to explore the house and, as she moved about, everywhere she went, it was the same. Tiny bits of their home that felt removed, even though she knew she had no basis for feeling that way, and she couldn't help but think something was _definitely_ missing. She wanted to dismiss it because it seemed absolutely ridiculous to be bothered over what she could easily brush of as cleanliness and order, except… all of those spaces meant something to her she couldn't quite understand and the more she considered it, the more she thought that maybe it wasn't just something she didn't understand, it was something she couldn't remember.

It was something passed between her father and her husband behind her back; some murmur of a memory she'd yet to receive and it pained her because she wanted to ask, but knowing they hadn't told her meant there was a reason.

She glanced around at the bookshelves and plucked a photo album out, flipping through it carefully to smile down at photos of herself and the Doctor. There were shots of them on Earth, doing Earthly things like taking in the seven wonders in varying states of decay, and there were shots of them on other planets doing things that might be harder to explain… riding oversized bees and posing with creatures that definitely wouldn't be found in a zoo anywhere nearby. Clara smiled at the pictures of Angie and Artie and she was glad to see they'd joined them on some of their trips through the years. And when she reached the final few pages, she frowned because the album abruptly ended, several pages sitting blank. With a small groan, she plucked the last of the photos out, expecting the date to read some time just before her accident, except it read several months before.

"Hmph," she spat, pushing the photo back in and sliding another out of its space. It was only days before the one she'd just looked at.

Clara slowly tugged photos out, flipping them over to check the dates and her scribbled notes and she set them back inside, creating a timeline in her head. One that seemed to begin three months before the accident and she frowned as she closed the book and pushed it back onto the shelf. Part of her told her to ignore it – maybe they'd just gone through a period of not taking photos; maybe they'd gotten suddenly busy. There were loads of times she could remember being hidden away in her room, nose in books, trying to pass courses to graduate. But there was a part of her screaming at her that it was something important missing from those pages.

Her stomach grumbled loudly and she touched a hand to it, fingers absently turning circles just underneath her belly button before they fell away and she sighed into the silence. Clara gave the house one final sweep of her eyes and then decided to drop it for the moment. She moved to the yellow room to begin pulling the bed away from the wall, forgoing a thorough examination of her bookshelf where, if she searched long enough, she would find – holding a place in a book; tucked into a thick brown appointment binder – a single scan of her baby girl, her name written confidently on the back.


	24. Chapter 24

The drumming at the door startled Clara and she hissed when her slow stroke wiggled off into an erratic zigzag off the penciled wing she'd been trying to paint over in purple. With a long sigh as the knocks began anew, Clara settled the cup and brush she'd been using down on the tarp and she made her way out into the living room where she could hear him calling her name.

"Clara, _Clara_, it's me, _the Doctor_ – I seem to have forgotten my house key and Mrs. Rudemeyer is giving me a strange look, which isn't quite fair because this time I've got pants… and trousers on. _Clara_!"

Despite the frustration of the paint she'd have to work off the wall, and the continual notion that he was keeping secrets from her, she smiled readily at the sound of his voice and she imagined him standing just outside that door, doing a small dance. He'd be wrapping his hands and grinning like a fool, just waiting for her to open that door because, Clara knew, he'd been thinking about getting to her forever… and as she reached the door, footsteps quickening as her smile brightened, she had a flash of a different doorway, a different time.

"_Clara. Clara Oswald_," he'd asked excitedly.

"_Hello_," she could remember being perplexed at the man grinning down at her. So excited, as though he'd stumbled upon treasure and not the Maitland's front step.

"_Clara Oswin Oswald_," he'd asked again in exasperation

She could recall easily how the name had confused her and how much she was ready to slam the door in his face except… he intrigued her in a way she couldn't explain as she replied, "_Just Clara Oswald. What was that middle one_?"

"_Do you remember me_?"

Grabbing hold of the door and yanking it open, Clara could feel her eyes going wide as saucers as she stared up at him, watching him straighten as she took several quick breaths, lips rising quickly to shout, "I remember you," Clara looked him over, brow furrowing as she continued, "Dressed up like a monk, looked like a complete idiot, and you called me Oswin, which was strange, but funny –_ you were strange and funny _– and then you saved me."

She turned away from him, moving through the hall and into her living room as he followed, understanding beginning to register as she laughed and shifted back awkwardly. He could see the joy in her features as her eyes glazed over, remembering some moment, and then her lips dropped and he asked quietly, "What's wrong?"

"She died," her eyes came up, "I was there when she passed." Clara's lip trembled slightly as she shook her head and choked, "And Angie was so defiant, she yelled at her to wake up and George could barely keep upright – but he had to because Angie just… and Artie," she hugged herself and her eyes closed as she muttered, "My poor boy, he just buried himself in my side and held me. Didn't cry because his mum had told him not to – had told him if she moved on, she wouldn't be in pain anymore and she wouldn't want his tears."

The Doctor crossed the space between them and he pulled her against him, angry that her elation at their first meeting was marred with memories of death, but he understood that she was moving from twenty one to twenty four right before him and everything in between would be shuffling in bits and pieces back into her memories. Finding their proper spots and flooding her with emotions. Her shoulders shook with sobs she silenced into his coat and he rocked with her gently, feeling his hearts thudding heavily into her cheek because she was that much closer to her own sorrow and he debated whether he should warn her.

Knowing they'd been wrong in not telling her.

Glancing around the room, he sighed and he pulled her back, admitting quietly, "Clara, there's something I should tell you," he waited for her reddened eyes to meet his, "_Before_ you remember."

She released a small pained laugh and shook her head, replying quietly, "Don't."

"What?" He questioned with a knotting of his brow, bending slightly to catch her eyes as they fluttered away from him, blinking at tears.

With a quick nod and a long breath, she raised her arms to the room and admitted, "I know there's something and I've been thinking about it all day and it doesn't matter."

"Clara, it _matters_," he urged.

"No," she shook her head, "I mean, _yes_, it _matters_, but telling me doesn't stop me from _feeling_ it and I know you're trying to save me from pain. I don't remember the accident, but I know that the memories of that happening aren't going to be any less shocking if you handed me a recording to see for myself beforehand, so don't tell me – whatever you think you need to tell me now, don't."

He clenched his jaw and he shook his head, reaching out for her arms and stating, "No, this is something you should know – something we should have told you months ago because I know the secrets that pass between your father and I don't go unnoticed and…"

"You keep secrets from me to protect me," Clara interrupted, "You've done it before, with the Tardis, and maybe I don't need to know everything." His grip on her arms had tightened and she could see his bottom lip trembling. "Doctor, it's _alright_."

But he was shaking his head, fingers dropping off her skin delicately as he moved away from her, through the hallway and towards the room she'd been painting in and Clara followed behind, giving him space. He slumped against the doorframe and cried quietly and Clara inched up behind him, an unexplainable sorrow freezing her insides as she wrapped her arms around him from behind, kissing his back and then leaning her cheek into it.

He twisted in her grasp, lips dropping to the top of her head and he laughed, "Sorry, you've just lost Angie and Artie's mother all over again and here I am…"

"You're sad – that doesn't lessen because I am," Clara murmured into his side.

"Clara, it's not that I want to save you from pain, you should know you…"

She gave him a squeeze and shook her head, repeating, "Don't."

Inching up, she pressed her lips to his, prying them apart slowly, tilting her head and inhaling deep when he bent down into her, arms rounding her back to hold her to him. Clara tugged on his coat, pulling him away from the wall and she lead him into the room, falling with a laugh onto the bed now settled at the center, and she smirked down at him, hands coming up to brush stray strands off his forehead to kiss him there lightly.

She watched him sigh as the last of his tears fell over his temples to drift off into his hair and she followed his eyes as they studied her face, a quiet smile of satisfaction resting on his lips. The hands at her sides slipped over her back and he breathed, "I almost lost you."

Clara placed her hands at his cheeks, thumbs stroking over them lovingly as she smiled. In a way, she had lost him after the accident. She'd lost all of him and yet, he'd refused to be lost, carefully edging his way back into her life; gauging her comfort level around him and now… Clara met his lips with her own again, this time with an unexpected urgency that made him moan lightly as she dropped her knees to his sides to straddle him. She could remember the way she'd teased him at the café and the way he'd excitedly asked her to travel with him.

"_Come back tomorrow. Ask me again_." If he'd been able to feel her heart in that moment, he would have found it pounding erratically at the notion that she wasn't quite admitting she wanted to travel with him – she would never have given him that power then – but she wanted desperately to go.

"_Why_?" Clara smiled at the memory of the look on his face, the disappointment that she wasn't outright agreeing to go and the knowledge that she'd succeeded in stumping this insane alien she should have been grateful to for saving her life. He'd saved her life and she'd responded by being playfully about his snog box and how she'd be the one laying down the rules.

"_Because tomorrow, I might say yes_." She smiled into his lips and then shouted when he sat up abruptly, hands slipping down to cradle her backside in his lap.

Clara clung to him, laughing into his ear, arms draping themselves over his shoulders to hold him tightly to her, suddenly very aware of how close he might have actually come to losing her. Recognizing that fear he was feeling in his hearts that it wouldn't be her uploaded into an internet cloud, but splayed out on the pavement of a street. She understood the irony that she'd almost died in a very human way after spending years travelling around the universe with an alien and she found herself crying as she gripped him tighter, fingers working his coat into bunches as she bent her legs to round him and looked down at the prosthetic that lay limply against the pillow.

"Hey," he breathed softly, trying to slip her back to wipe at her tears, "Hey, it's alright."

She shook her head slowly and admitted, "I never really thought about how I almost died – I could have _died_ and I was worried about _remembering_ things. And you, you've just been thinking… all of this time… about how you could have lost me. Not just some memory of me, but me."

"But I didn't lose you," he laughed, "_Clara_."

With a smile, she allowed, "You're mad."

"Absolutely," he nodded.

Clara looked him over, the bright smile on his red face and she imagined she looked a right mess in that moment, but as she sat against him, cradled in his arms, she managed to chuckle with him. She kissed lightly at his cheeks, and then his forehead, and then each of his eyelids as he quietly accepted her affection, waiting for her lips to round his face a second and third time before she parted his lips and edged into him.

Pushing the coat off his shoulders and tossing it to the ground at her right, Clara urged him back into the bed before lifting up to undo his waist coat and tug his shirt out of his trousers. She slowly unbuttoned his shirt and slid her hands over his pale chest, smirking while his hands kneaded her thighs, working circles to push her dress up until he could drive his thumbs down from her waist and over her knickers so she bent into him reflexively as he chuckled into the lips now hovering over his.

"Aren't we supposed to be having lunch?" He questioned lightly.

Inching up, Clara smiled down at him before she reached to remove her leg and the sleeve with her pin, carefully setting them down before she spread herself atop him again, teasing his neck with her lips as his fingers worked at either side of her waist to strip of her of her underwear before she straightened and undid the buckle of his belt. Wordlessly, she palmed him, enjoying the way his eyes closed as he allowed her to free him from his pants before she moved over him, dropping slowly onto him with a light exhale.

Bending to slide her fingers underneath his open shirt to hold tight to his shoulders, Clara breathed hotly against his ear, "Aren't we?"

The Doctor laughed as she shifted her weight against him, slowly massaging at him until he took her by her sides and tasted her neck, beginning a steady bucking of his hips up into her as she released a strangled gasp. He slowed his movements, turning his head, nudging at her temple with his until she kissed at him, mouth making its way to his. He let his grip on her slacken and she curved her body into his, pelvis angling into him in rhythm with him until he hissed her name, feeling her tighten and then release a wave of tremors around him.

His fingers gripped Clara's flesh as she sighed his name between heaving breaths and she reveled in the feel of his release and for a fleeting moment she froze, a small thought forming in the back of her mind as she tightened her hold on his sides with her knees and began pumping her body over his as he continually mumbled her name. Clara turned her head to look up at the sketched mural on the wall, outlines of butterflies and flowers half painted, and she thought about how the room suddenly seemed just right for a nursery.


	25. Chapter 25

He was rambling, as the Doctor often did, and Clara moved with him, smile set on her face as she glanced around at the oversized flowers on either side of them on their path. Visiting 'safe' planets had become a weekly event. Every Wednesday they hopped into the Tardis, just as it'd been at the start, and Clara looked forward to those trips because between maintaining her physical therapy and her studies to re-certify for teaching, their trips had become her relaxation time. Drifting with her husband through cloud planets and flower planets and sponge planets.

She sighed as she looked up at his free hand waiving about. His eyes widened as he smiled, words tumbling easily from his lips as he bent to look at her, "… millions of years, developing under the watchful eye of the Nefreem and Clara _are you even listening to me_?"

They slowed to a stop and she laughed, offering, "Of course I'm listening, Doctor."

He straightened, giving her an amused smirk before gesturing back, "You stopped listening about five minutes ago, some thought in your mind distracting you from the history of this planet – _what is it_?"

Clara waved a hand, "No, go on, Nefreem, watching the planet; blooms and bees and birds, standard planetary development speech."

"_Standard_?" He huffed.

"Doctor," she laughed as he began to walk ahead of her, taking hold of his lapels to tug roughly at his suit before he turned back and she smiled at the frustrated look on his face.

They'd fallen into a comfortable routine; one she now knew had always been just their way of co-existing. She'd tease him mercilessly and he'd become flustered until he realized she'd been teasing and then she'd get that look – the one he was giving her now. As though he'd just caught on to a joke and he felt foolish for falling for it again and, as he made his way back to her, he asked lightly, "Really, Clara, what's on your mind?"

_A baby_, she wanted to tell him, except the subject had become a sour note in their relationship. She'd asked him on the afternoon she'd finished her mural in that second bedroom, if he thought maybe they could start planning a family and he'd frowned, cutting off the notion with something muttered about their space. They needed a larger home already for her wheelchair, for the accessibility, and if they were to start considering children, they'd definitely need the larger home before that.

And they'd been looking.

Over the weeks they'd gone to visit several homes, but some were too far, some were too pricey, and some simply didn't seem a good fit, leaving them both wrinkling their noses at one another before apologizing to the real estate agent who, Clara thought, was becoming tired of their requests. Of course, they wanted it to be perfect and, of course, they knew they might have to make their own modifications, but they needed a larger master bath, something that would be comfortable for her, and wider hall spaces.

"Clara?" He questioned before touching her cheek softly and telling her with a smirk, "Don't worry; everything will fall into place when the time is right."

She nodded slowly and then glanced to her left, "So are these flowers in bloom all year?"

He laughed at her diversion and offered, "All year, all of the time." Then the Doctor pointed and gasped at what he had been about to tell her before, when he noticed her eyes had glazed over with some thought she was still obscuring, "The flowers here are actually a fairly good predictor of meteorological change – they bend away from oncoming heat waves; point to the sky before widespread showers; wither altogether before plagues to cocoon themselves for rebirth after the damage is done. Quite productive at preserving themselves."

Watching the small pelvic thrust he offered, a look of pure admiration on his face, Clara released a laugh strong enough to bend her slightly before she nodded towards them, hanging lazily with their petals staring out at one another, and asked happily, "So this, _yeah_, regular pose or should I worry?"

"Definitely regular pose," he assured before reaching out to take her hand to pull her along as she carefully considered her steps.

She'd become more comfortable with the prosthetic and she knew in the coming weeks she'd be getting a new one; one, Martha guaranteed, would be somewhat flexible. Just enough to allow her to feel each step softly, naturally, and – she'd whispered – it would help in case they needed to suddenly run. Thankfully, Clara thought as she gazed up at the man who was now going on about the weather on the planet, they hadn't found a reason to do more than take a few quick steps as he strove to show her something exciting.

And, she found, there were so many exciting things to be shown. It'd been almost a month since she remembered the first time she'd laid eyes on him and in that month she'd remembered the _Old God_ who'd devoured her mum's leaf and she'd remembered the Ice Warrior they'd convinced not to destroy their planet. Clara remembered the 'ghost' they'd helped out of a pocket universe and she remembered being lost in the Tardis, but those memories seemed jumbled and contradictory in a way that made her assume something had gone terribly wrong.

"You're not listening to me again," the Doctor sang as he came to another stop, releasing her hand and twirling back to point at her to question, "Clara, what's on your mind? _Please_, tell me."

For a moment she bit her lip and looked to the ground, knowing broaching the subject she wanted to would only end in them taking a silent walk back to the Tardis, with him suggesting she needed a rest or that he'd forgotten he had to fix something. Because the Doctor was seemingly convinced, at least to her, that if they had a baby before they bought a house and she regained her memories, the world would fall apart. So she settled her mind on something else and took a long breath to meet his eyes again.

"That house on Lubbock," Clara called calmly, "You said it was too big, but I think we ought to give it another look because it's in the perfect place and maybe a little extra room would be good. You could have your own space, to _tinker_," she smiled as he approached her, a grin settling on his lips, "Or maybe we could…"

He silenced her with a kiss she laughed into, his arms circling her to hold her against him before he inched back with a long sigh to nod, "We'll give it another look then."

His eyes seemed to sparkle and she knew, instantly, that he'd been thinking about the place as well. It was one of three they seemed to keep coming back to, but he continually argued about the space and she constantly replied that it was like his Tardis – just a bit _bigger_ on the inside. And wouldn't that be wonderful, she tried to assure. Because Clara had already imagined how she'd fill those rooms and she hoped at least two would belong to rambunctious youngsters with floppy hair and penchants for destroying everything in sight with their gangly legs and innocently ridiculous grins.

At least two, she thought to herself while considering the face in front of her, the one smiling into her confidently in a way that made her understand that now that they'd settled on the property, there would be no question it would be theirs. At least two, she grinned as he stared down at her – maybe two little girls who would twirl around just like him with wonder in their eyes to learn about everything; maybe two little boys who would take apart the toaster and trip over their own feet just walking from their bedrooms. Maybe one of each because Clara wanted to know how he would cherish his little girl and adore his little boy.

_The way he was looking at her then_.

Clara then took the chance to utter, "I want to stop my birth control – I want to…"

He released her, holding her long enough for her to regain her balance before he turned away and looked to the oversized sunflowers to their right and slowly he finished the turn and looked to her to state, "You want to have a baby, _I know_, Clara. I know."

She felt as though she might bite her lip off as she nodded, watching the way the inquiry affected him – the way it always did – as though she'd just punched him in the chest. She couldn't understand it, except to think that the idea of them having had a child before the accident, a child who could have lost their mother… he couldn't fathom the idea. Clara imagined the Doctor considered what that loss would have been and he was afraid of _just the idea_ becoming a reality, and she understood the fear more than he could.

Sighing, Clara explained, "I know you want me to be back at work at least a year before we start trying, and you want us to have the house ready, but…" he opened his mouth to interrupt, but she raised her hands, stopping him with a smile, "Doctor, you told me before that we'd left it to the universe; I got the impression we were having troubles conceiving and I thought if we started trying earlier, we'd increase our chances – or give the universe more room for the_ wibbly wobbly_," she ended on a chuckle.

He looked to the ground as he laughed weakly and the sound broke her heart. Because it sounded like he had no hope of having children with her and the notion stiffened her body. Clara watched his hands lift slightly and then slap back against his thighs as he nodded and repeated, "The _universe_. She's not often as kind as we hope she would be."

"Was that the truth? Is the universe cruel because we _couldn't_…" Clara began and his eyes rose instantly, offended, and she looked away with a muttered apology.

He shook his head and told her gently, "It was the truth, Clara – we were trying, we were…"

"Well then," Clara began, stopping him defiantly and seeing the surprised look on his face as he watched her while she straightened confidently to finish, "You _like_ plans. You've made your plan and I disagree with it and since I'm your wife and since plans aren't made solely by the husband, let's make a plan then – one where we meet halfway between right now and next year."

"A plan; a _together_ plan?" The Doctor questioned, grinning at the way she fidgeted, fingers picking nervously at each other in front of her stomach as she nodded.

Smiling and taking a quick breath, Clara suggested, "After I've been back at work three months, and gotten used to the new prosthetic UNIT is making for me, and after we're settled into the house on Lubbock, then we'll start trying."

He reached out for her face, palms caressing her jaw as his thumbs traced over her cheeks and he could see the sadness in her eyes. Clara reached up to wrap her hands over his wrists as she tried to smile for him because she knew something was wrong and he felt horrible for making her feel that way, realized he was keeping her from a happiness she deserved over a sadness he knew was just around the corner. A sadness that still ate at his heart. The Doctor closed his eyes and he could instantly see the look on her face, seeing their unborn daughter on a screen, watching the grey and white outline that shifted about happily.

"_Is that normal_," he'd asked, eyes drifting down to her belly as she laughed.

"_Absolutely normal, sir, and… looks like, yup, definitely a girl_," the technician had assured with a quick snap of a photo of what the Doctor presumed were genitalia and he'd turned his eyes to Clara then.

Her lips had trembled as they drifted into a satisfied smile. Her eyes were wide and bright, twinkling with the shimmer of hopeful tears, and she'd sighed, "_Our girl, Doctor_."

Opening his eyes on a laugh, he dropped his forehead to hers and he kissed her, a light meeting of their lips, before he nodded against her. He thought to tell her then, to try and explain why he'd been hesitant, but he chose not to spoil the moment for her – the moment he decided she deserved that hope she'd had before, and he sighed, "Alright, Clara. That's _our_ plan."


	26. Chapter 26

He was moaning in his sleep and Clara woke in confusion, feeling his hands search her out and tug her closer, pressing her back into his chest and nuzzling his chin into her shoulder and she whispered his name softly, turning slightly to feel the wetness of tears against her cheek. It was rare that she caught him sleeping at all, but having a nightmare seemed almost impossible and she shifted in his tight grasp, frowning when she watched his face contort in pain and he murmured lightly, "No."

"Doctor," she groaned, fighting against the arms that were stronger than her own, keeping her securely against him and then he opened his eyes with a gasp, staring down into her shocked stare as she asked, "Are you alright?"

The laugh he coughed hurt to hear and she could see he was avoiding her stare, the nightmare he'd been experiencing still fresh on his mind, not yet dissolved away with the reality of consciousness. With a small nod, he admitted, "I dreamt I saw your crash," and he kept his gaze trained on her chest because he imagined if she'd been able to see his eyes, she'd understand that he had seen her crash.

_He'd tried to stop it_.

The Tardis had landed herself four blocks away and he'd had to run through alleyways, cursing her for not simply taking him where he _needed_ to be and he'd rounded a corner just in time to see the small 'o' of shock Clara's mouth had made as a vehicle shot into her lane. She'd barely had time to swerve slightly and brace herself before it clipped her back tire and sent her to the ground. The Doctor reached for her, lying in the bed in front of him, and he hugged her because he could still see the length of road she'd slid across and the mangled cry she'd released just before hitting the concrete barrier of a construction site with the deafening pop of her helmet cracking.

He knew he couldn't be at her side then; knew if anyone spotted her husband there, they'd assume he was somehow culpable, and after a moment, he'd had to turn away, leaving a trail of knocked over garbage bins and shattered pallets in his wake as he made his way back to the Tardis to collapse just inside. That moment was all it took for him to see the woman who'd hit her had crashed her own car into a mailbox and she'd stumbled out in a blind panic to reach Clara in a fit of sobs knowing, as soon as she fell at her side, what she'd caused.

That moment was all it took to watch the construction workers lift the bike off Clara as everything on that road came to a shocked stop. Just those few seconds to see her lying in a splattering of her own blood, right arm twisted behind her, left curled protectively around the small bump of her belly. Nineteen weeks of a life, beginning her end before his eyes as he stood powerless to stop it. The last thing the Doctor heard before he'd turned away were people shouting for help and the ear piercing screams that woman had released as she remained, hunched over Clara in a mess of apologies.

"It's alright," Clara purred into his chest, her left hand rounding his side and moving in small soothing circles at his back as he gripped her firmly. "I'm still here," Clara assured before nestling her head into his chest to listen to his hearts hammering away. "My stars, Doctor, _are you alright_?"

He shook his head over hers and he could feel her kissing his chest lightly, body struggling against his hold to lift herself on her elbow. Clara ran a hand over his face as he finally met her concerned eyes and he swallowed roughly, telling her, "I don't know what I'd have done if I lost you."

Her knuckle came up to stop a new tear from rolling over his nose and she inched closer to him again, lying down on her back and taking his hand, bringing it up to her chest. Clara inhaled deeply and she released the breath slowly with a small grin and a nod, telling him, "I'm right here."

Lifting his hand, he ghosted it over her breasts to land it atop her stomach, shifting it to settle just at her waist, and he sighed, "Are you ready for the move?"

She giggled quietly and it made the corners of his mouth lift as she told him coyly, "There's that beautiful smile of yours," because she hated to see him frown and the notion that she was saving him from his inner monster by making him grin foolishly down at her eased his hearts. She was alive; she was _thriving_; she would be ok.

Clara shifted onto her side facing him and she pushed her left knee into his hip, turning his body and then climbing atop him to rest her head at his chest, waiting until his hands came up to massage gently at her back as he nodded, "You always know how to make me smile."

"Not too shabby yourself," she teased before nodding, "And yes, I'm ready for the move." Clara picked her head up, palms curling over his shoulders as she grinned down at him, "Are _you_ ready for the move?"

The Doctor smiled up at her because he understood her words were about more than the house and he nodded, hands increasing the pressure with which they rubbed at her lower back, bringing her night shirt up until he was caressing her flesh and he slipped his fingers into her knickers, giving her backside a squeeze as she laughed before lowering herself to kiss him. He groaned when she shifted against him, a balanced dance atop him that drove his fingers down over her skin, urging her on and he sighed into the small laugh that escaped her as her lips found his jaw and then his neck.

"Clara," he groaned, mouth opening as his eyes shut when her lips clamped at a sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder and she let her tongue lap over him, sending his hips up into her roughly.

His mind argued with his body that they should be resting. She'd started teaching again that week, they'd be moving that weekend, and they should be ready for those events. The Doctor's hands moved up to grasp at her waist on either side, wanting to stop her and tease her about her growing libido, but instead, he felt the surge of warmth underneath her grinding hips and he reached to slip himself from the folds of his boxers, finger deftly pushing aside her knickers to melt into her.

She chuckled against the strained moan he released and then she began to swing her body, lifting up slightly to watch his face as it broke out in a sheen of sweat and she planted herself, reaching for the edges of her nightgown to strip herself of it. Clara took several long breaths as she turned her attention to his now open eyes and the way they roamed over her body. It was always the same, as though he were seeing her for the first time, and when she began to slip down, he rose to meet her, lips hungrily latching onto her right breast as she cried out.

The Doctor held her tightly as he lifted up and then bent his legs to press his knees into the bedding, falling free of her and chuckling deviously as she bounced back into the bed underneath him and he stopped, looking down at the way her eyes disappeared behind her quiet laughter. He waited for it to taper off, for her to grin up at him lovingly, and then he settled himself back inside of her gently, molding his body to hers with his elbows at her sides as his mouth trailed slowly over her skin. He took a breath when her fingers dove into his hair and then he began to move against her, driving himself deeply into her as she exhaled in surprise.

He smiled at the thought of breaking in their new home. Of settling all of their belongings on shelves and into corners, hanging on walls and pushed into closets, while making plans about the spare bedrooms and just how they'd like to fill them. He could see the gleam in her eye whenever she thought on it and he knew what she was thinking – he _allowed_ himself to think about it now. It wasn't something he'd been able to do before, but now he caught her sifting through magazines at the market or websites on her tablet and he watched the small grin that flickered over her lips.

"_Can you feel it yet, Clara_?" He'd asked her on a morning not long before their last scans.

With a sad shrug, she'd replied, "_Dunno, there was a flutter this morning, but… could've been a muscle twitch, or gas – I've been having an issue with that lately_."

The Doctor had smiled and kissed her forehead before touching the swollen flesh at her abdomen, "_You'll feel them soon enough and before you know it, we'll be holding them in our arms_."

He shouted out when he felt her shudder over him as she exhaled his name into his hair and the Doctor felt himself reaching his climax, pushing into her rapidly as she clung to his shoulders. Clara kissed his temple lightly as he came and he leaned into her lips before dragging his own over her cheek to find hers, rounding her tongue with his desperately. She gasped into him, feeling his pelvis grind into hers and then he fell onto his side, arms swooping around her to pluck her up to roll with him as he moved onto his back, still settled warmly within her, knees coming up to settle his feet into the pillows as his thighs cradled her backside.

"Made a right mess of your knickers," he whimpered.

She nodded, cheek shifting against his chest as she replied, "I can get new knickers."

They laughed softly together and she lifted up, hands pressed into the bed at his sides. Clara took a long breath as she examined his features, slightly reddened by their actions and she bent to kiss his cheeks softly as his hands came up to grip her thighs. She straightened to glance down at their bodies, still joined, and then she touched her stomach lightly, imagining that not long from now they would be working towards a family.

Clara took a small breath before meeting his eyes again and she found a curious sadness there. A sadness that reinforced a thought that had settled itself into the back of her mind. A thought she continually tried to ignore; a thought she hadn't realized she'd been ignoring for months. Clara shook it away and she let her fingers drop to his stomach and she glanced behind her, nudging his legs with her backside until he laughed and dropped them, feet flattening themselves against the headboard.

"I think, Doctor," she began with a flirtatious smile, "We should destroy these knickers."

His fingers gave her legs a squeeze and his head lifted slightly as he reminded, "You have _work_ in a few hours; we should clean up, get changed, and _go to sleep_."

Clara's head tilted as she pouted playfully and her hips gave a quick set of undulations against him while smiled, feeling him jerk underneath her, twitching slightly within her. She shook her head and sighed, "I think I need to be tired out, _husband_."

Laughing, he crossed his legs behind her and inched up on his elbows, then pressed himself up on his palms, relaxing as she dropped her hands to his shoulders to hold herself steady atop him. Clara watched him lazily hang his head back and she sighed as he smirked. "Tire my wife out," he slowly responded with a bit of a nod before bringing his head up to meet the kiss she was leaning in for, and then he uttered, "I believe I am quite suited for the task."

Clinging to him, Clara inhaled sharply as his mouth met hers again, this time devouring her and his hands came up to snake around her, holding tight to her backside as his hips began a slow and steady movement into her. She squeaked against a hard thrust and then dropped her head into his shoulder, feeling his lips shifting to her neck, tugging on her earlobe. He lay back down and Clara tucked her head just underneath his chin, her hands holding to his upper arms as his shifted to her waist as he continued a slow curve of his body into hers.

It was a slow build, her hips arching slightly to give him leverage, and she kissed her way across his chest and over his neck, pecking at his chin, and finally settling into his lips. It was lazy, fingers splayed out over any bits of exposed skin, pushed into hair, and kneading at each other as they moaned quietly. It was solemn in a way Clara hadn't expected, as if their hearts were finally working together to mourn a loss she hadn't realized she was experiencing.

And as she gasped into his mouth what felt like an eternity later, she did so with an unexpected pang of guilt she couldn't quite explain, because while she made love to him knowing she'd been lying to him for weeks – she'd stopped taking her birth control – it wasn't guilt over that. It was guilt over feeling she was trying to replace something _she didn't know she'd had_ and as her mind worked over every funny detail that felt out of place since she'd woken – from the awkward examination at the hospital when she questioned her heavy menstruation, to her father and the Doctor's whispered conversations, to the missing little pieces all over their home – Clara understood she was.

Somehow she imagined she'd known all along and the notion was slowly pressing itself to the front of her mind, refusing to be ignored anymore. She laid her forehead into his chest, heaving as she understood – _even without her memories_ – that she had been pregnant when she crashed.


	27. Chapter 27

Clara tilted her head as she watched Dave and the Doctor carrying their couch in through the door and she winced because she thought maybe they were going to break one item or the other. She adjusted the small box she held in her arms, feeling her heart skip a beat as she considered that she was ready to confront them both for the truth, just as soon as they got through the move. She supposed that gave her a certain measure of control, deciding to let them get through the hassle of getting their stuff across town and settled into the house. It also allowed her to delay the inevitable terror she had at seeing the truth etched into their faces.

The emptiness she would feel when her instincts were validated.

Dave gave a shout and the Doctor grunted in response and then they turned, at just the last second, and made it through as she sighed, chin dropping to her chest before turning back to the moving van parked in the driveway. She could hear them arguing just inside as she smiled to Martha, emerging with a box, passing instructions to her own husband, who nodded and readjusted a larger box in his arms.

"Tell the truth," Mickey whispered at Clara, "I'd rather be fighting an alien invasion than helping them place the couch – too much testosterone between 'em to handle."

They shared a laugh and she reached out to give his arm a squeeze before he slipped into the house and rushed towards a set of stairs to avoid being called by either man. Clara took a careful step on the lawn and she went to Martha's side as the other woman bent to lift a box with her books and groaned against the weight, and Clara admitted, "I probably should have packed these lighter."

Martha chuckled, "Just remember to take something before bed or you'll wake with a sore back."

"Probably be sore anyways," she smirked, passing a shy look to Martha, who gasped, and then laughed with her as they began to walk into the house, passing the Doctor as he nodded appreciatively at the spot they'd managed to settle the couch.

Clara began her ascent up the stairs, reaching for the railing at her side and she smiled in surprise when the box suddenly left her arms, plucked up by the man who turned, calling, "Bedroom?"

"Yeah," Clara shot, "Thanks." She concentrated on her steps and when they stood on the second floor landing, she paused to press her prosthetic into the ground several times with a look back at Martha as she admitted, "It's got a lot more flexibility than the last one – take some getting used to."

Martha settled the box atop the mattress of the bed as Mickey smiled to the duo and departed, and then she looked to Clara, asking her gently, "How are you, Clara?"

Shrugging, Clara offered, "Alright, I guess – bit exhausted by all of this, trying to get used to the new leg and boxing up all of our belongings, something he was pretty adamant he mostly take care of... so, fine, I suppose."

Waiting until she raised her head to look at her, Martha sighed and elaborated, "I don't mean physically, with the prosthetic, or the move. How are _you_?"

She gave her a grin and turned her eyes away, "Back to teaching. Different school – there weren't any openings at Coal Hill – but it's good; kids are a bit much these days, don't remember being this distracted when I was thirteen…"

"Clara," Martha interrupted. "I don't mean the job either – _you've been quiet_. Really quiet and normally you're a chatter box once I get you worked up and I thought this… this should have you rambling on about where you want your stuff and how you're going to decorate a room or what colors you'd like to re-paint the wall." She paused, taking in Clara's anxious swallow and the way she wouldn't meet her eye as she asked, "What's wrong?"

Clara raised her hands to grip them in front of her stomach, pinky picking at the box in front of her and then she moved to close the door, turning swiftly and planting her back end against it. She watched Martha as she waited and then asked quietly, "Was I pregnant, when I crashed… was I pregnant?"

When Martha's eyes drifted immediately to the door, Clara exhaled and bowed her head and Martha stepped forward, eyebrows rising to ask, "Have you talked to him about it?"

She moved around Martha and dropped onto the bed with a simple, "No," then she raised her eyes with a sad smile and lamented, "I guess I was then."

Going to sit next to her, Martha looked to her hands, twisting together in her lap, and she asked, "Are you ok?"

Tilting her head up, Clara narrowed her eyes and admitted, "I dunno," then she explained, "It's sort of like when your best friend's grandmother dies and you feel terrible because you know it's a horrible thing – a _horribly sad_ thing – but it's not your grandmother, so maybe you have a cry for your friend, but you can sort of go on with life without much of a pause."

"You don't remember it yet," Martha sighed, glancing to the door.

"Suppose that's why he hasn't told me," Clara whimpered. "I _really_ want children, Martha. He knows that and…" she trailed off with a timid laugh, raising one hand and looking to the wall across from her. "We agreed to wait a few months to start trying, but I tossed my meds because he's an alien – _an alien_ – and I imagine it'll take a lucky shot." Clara looked to Martha, "What if that was our lucky shot?"

"Clara…" she began.

"But maybe it wasn't," Clara interrupted. "Then why wouldn't he tell me? Him and my dad, they walk off into another room and they pass secrets between each other instead of just telling me the truth and the more I think about it, the more upset it makes me because it's not keeping me safe, it's just lying to me. Why would they lie to me?"

"To keep you from pain," Martha stated, looking to the ground, "Said it yourself, you really want children, Clara," she looked up, "And they both know that and they're scared of what that memory will to do you."

She nodded slowly and told her, "They're scared of a memory; what of their lies?"

"Clara, I know this isn't what you want to hear from me, and trust me, I don't agree with how they've handled this, but… they're only trying to protect you," Martha pleaded, gesturing at the door, "If you ask him, if you go out there and confront him, he'll tell you the truth."

With a frown, she sighed, "I think he already has tried and I told him I didn't want to know."

"And do you realize how conflicted he feels about that?" Martha urged.

She nodded, feeling Martha's hand at her shoulder, pulling her into her for a half-hug she accepted as she sighed, "What will it do to him to know that I know? All of those times he looked sadly into that second bedroom and I thought, in the back of my mind, that it wasn't just a guest room – it couldn't be, because it made his eyes vacant and his shoulders rigid. It was going to be the baby's room." She took a long breath and glanced to Martha to tell her sadly, "He's been in mourning and I don't feel it yet; that must kill him inside."

"Tell him," Martha prompted. "You can tell him the truth and he can tell you. Things like this, Clara; they aren't good for a marriage."

Nodding, she replied, "I know, but," she laughed, "But we'd just come up with this plan – this timeline of events for us…"

"One you're already ignoring, tossing your birth control and letting the universe decide..."

Clara shook her head and stood up, turning to look at Martha with a curious stare before she admitted, "That's what he told me, before – _let the universe decide_. The only reason he's been hesitant is this memory I don't have that he's afraid of."

"All I'm saying," Martha began as she reached for the box at her side and sighed, "Is that you should talk to him; he'll listen to you – _always_ has, whether you remember it or not."

The other woman stood and glanced to the bookshelf against the wall and she undid the flaps atop the box to begin ordering the books there, and Clara bit her lip, considering that she was absolutely right. She touched her stomach and then lifted her hands to scratch at her temples, forefinger of her right hand sliding over the long scar that drifted up into her thick hair, and she dropped them, going towards the books. She began grabbing at them in chunks, taking them towards the shelf and her and Martha fell into random chatter about travelling.

They smiled to Mickey as he brought them more boxes with a simple, "Has anyone ever told you that you've got enough books to start a library," and they decided on ordering in for dinner and when Martha and Mickey drove away as the sun set in the evening sky, and her father headed off as the stars began to twinkle, Clara was left standing in the living room with her hands at her waist, looking around with a tilt of her head in each direction as she studied the room.

She glanced up when the front door closed and she sighed as the Doctor smiled back at her before telling her, "I've parked the Tardis around the side; was thinking – for safe keeping – we could use one of the spare rooms to house her."

"_Her own room_ in my home after she spent so many nights moving my room around yours," Clara teased, laughing at the space beside her before she turned back sharply and pointed, "Zygons and Queen Elizabeth the first and _your home_. My stars, Doctor, your home is still locked away somewhere…"

He rushed to her side, watching her eyes go wide as her breathing quickened and he took her arms, nodding slowly and assuring, "And they're safe, Clara, it's ok. Take a deep breath."

Shaking her head against the unexpected assault of memories, Clara felt herself dropping, her mind suddenly ablaze with thoughts and places and she cried out as she listened to him calling her name. But she remembered jumping into his time stream and with that jump came an onslaught. Clara could recall trampling through the dirty streets of Victorian London as a child just as easily as she could remember climbing aboard the Starship Alaska in a distant future with a clipboard in her hand and a rose tucked behind her ear.

She saw an assortment of parents and friends and significant others. They were wonderful and horrible and uplifting and frightening. Clara closed her eyes as her head began to pound and she could hear the Doctor mumbling, "No, no, _not again_, no," and she felt him lift her off the ground, stomping up the stairs and lying her in bed before she heard the faucet in the bathroom turn on and soon there was a damp cool towel on her forehead, his hand clasping at hers.

"Doctor," she whimpered, voice wavering as she remembered being encased in wires and metal, knives cutting away at her body so that only her head remained, trapped and warped inside of a Dalek.

She could see his face clearly through an imagined screen and how sad he had been and then it snapped and she was rushing through the Tardis, calling after him, and then it jumped and she was standing on a frozen cliff, looking down on him to devise a way to get him up, and then she was in a field, watching him whiz by as one incarnation and then another. Clara felt as though she were in a hundred places, all at the same time, and each of those memories were battling it out in her head for dominance.

_Each of her lives_.

The Doctor shouted her name as he watched her writhing and he finally leapt onto the bed, straddling her because it was just as it had been before, her mind a warzone of memories. This was different from recovering her natural memories – the small smile, or the sad cry of recalling an event – this was the assault of a millions memories across time and space from an innumerable amount of different minds, all crashing against hers and just as last time, it had all been too much.

He reached for her temples and he bent slowly to touch his head to hers. If he could reach her as he had done before, he could slow them down. He could ease them in and help her compartmentalize them back where they belonged. "Come on, Clara," he whispered, watching the flashes of moments and feeling the sting of them just behind his eyes, but he also felt her body go still underneath him; could feel her breathing had slowed as the temperature of her skin rose.

"_Have to save you_," she muttered quietly, tears rolling over her temples.

The Doctor laughed and he kissed her lips delicately, replying, "No, Clara, _it's my turn to save you_."

He could see her childhood self on Gallifrey rushing through a field of red flowers, silver leaves from trees fluttering around her as she laughed and it flowed into an engine room where she turned away from a red-cheeked sailor and it dipped through her studying on a wooden desk, hair in long pigtails. The Doctor relived her memories with her until he fell to her side with a raging headache he ignored because when he looked back at her, she was resting calmly.

"You're almost there, love," he sighed, lifting himself up against the pain in his mind to remove her prosthetic for her, rolling off her sleeve and sock and caressing the scars on her skin. The Doctor set the items down on the nightstand and he reached into a box on the ground for a throw, draping it over her body and settling another kiss to her forehead before lying at her side to watch her sleep. With a long sigh as he took the hand that rested atop her stomach, he told her, "Almost out of the dark."


	28. Chapter 28

Clara woke feeling feverish and groggy and she stayed in bed, staring at the closet doors across from her trying to recall what had happened. It was frustrating sometimes, trying to figure out where she was in her memories while also trying to remember where she was in her real time. Like trying to maintain two timelines at once – a thought that made her smile because she imagined the Doctor had multiple timelines rushing about in that head of his, trying to keep them sorted to avoid problems with the universe around them.

The memory jog had been unlike the rest. Generally she just suddenly remembered, like watching a page in a coloring book filling itself in happily, but this had been an overload, as if the crayons themselves had leapt off the sheet to color directly onto her brain and she sighed against the faint throbbing pain pulsing between her ears. Clara could remember Christmas, the Christmas he'd almost died; the Christmas they both realized they were more than just travelling companions.

"Good morning, Clara," she heard him tell her on a hushed voice, "How are you feeling?"

"Brain-dead," she mumbled.

The Doctor laughed lightly, coming to kneel beside her, his hand automatically stroking over her hair and resting against her cheek as he smiled at her – that warm smile that made her heart flutter – and he nodded, "You've been out for quite some time, are you hungry?"

"What happened?" Clara asked, then shook her head and smiled, "No, I _remember_ what happened. My mind, you'd told me, it had to reconcile the collection of memories that had returned with me from the time stream. Remembering again, it sort of set them loose."

His fingers lifted off her cheek and he reached for her hands, taking them to kiss her knuckles as he nodded and told her, "I had to help you sort them, just like before," then he frowned, "I don't know what effect that might have had on your other memories this time around. That's why I didn't want to use a psychic link to help your memories along after the accident." Then his head dropped slightly as he muttered, "I'm sorry."

Clara chuckled and turned her hands around his, grabbing hold of him between her hands to bring his fingers to her lips several times before telling him, "It's alright, I understand."

She could see the tears in his eyes as he started a sentence twice and stopped himself before he was able to tell her, "Maybe, if I'd done it, it would have saved you the pain of not knowing; it would save you pain to come. Maybe you would have known enough to tell me about your leg so I could have taken you somewhere to help you. Clara, I am so sorry, _I should have tried_."

She watched him lower his forehead to the edge of the bed and she could hear his sobs and she released his hand to run her fingers over his hair, gaining his attention. Clara could see the surprise in his eyes because she wasn't upset with him, she was simply smiling weakly as she asked, "And why didn't you?"

His eyes averted to the nightstand, where her prosthetic rested, and he admitted on a nod, "With your mind already in a delicate state – with your physical brain, your skull, everything swollen from the trauma – it would have meant risking all of your memories; I would have been risking your life."

"And you weighed it," she assured, "My life for my memories; knowing who I was, but remaining in a vegetable state for the rest of my life, or worse. I know you weighed your options, Doctor, and you knew the pain was less than the risk was worth."

"But, Clara," he began.

She shook her head and laughed, "You chose to be _my husband_ over _the Doctor_ and you have nothing to apologize for for that."

He stared at her a moment, understanding that she knew him well enough to know his first instinct had been to take hold of her in the hospital bed as soon as she woke and force her memories back into place, but instead he chose to simply take her hand and promise to be at her side for as long as she wanted him there. With a light laugh, he leaned up and kissed her forehead and then dropped back to sigh at her as she smiled up at him before asking her again, "Are you hungry?"

Clara pushed her lips together in amusement before nodding and telling him quietly, "Yes, and I have to use the toilet desperately – how long was I out?"

He helped her sit up and Clara moved to get her sock off the nightstand, but the Doctor's hand reached it first, taking hold of her right leg and sighing as he slipped it on and then carefully rolled the sleeve with her pin over her stump, resting his hands on either side of her knee a moment before kissing it and looking up at her to tell her, "You were out almost a full day, less than the last time," and then he eased the prosthetic onto the pin, taking a step back when it locked so she could stand and secure it, her hands coming out for his. Clara tilted forward into him, landing against his chest and wrapping her arms around him.

"Are you alright?" He asked quietly.

She licked her lips and said plainly, "I stopped my birth control."

He rubbed at her back and leaned down to whisper, "I know."

Clara tensed, shifting back to see the grin on his face as she began to ask, "How…"

"Who do you think takes out the bins around here," he teased. "You tossed a full packet in at the beginning of last month – sort of noticeable."

She winced and questioned, "Are you mad at me?"

The Doctor pushed a hand into her hair, searching her face as he shook his head to reply, "Why would I be mad at you?"

"Because I was the one who made us settle on a plan…"

"And you broke it?" He interrupted, eyes closing as he chuckled, "Clara, I knew as soon as you said you didn't want to wait that you weren't going to."

"And you're not mad that I lied?" She repeated.

He kissed her and then shifted away, "Go on, I'll be downstairs putting together something to eat because I _know_ you're famished."

The Doctor slipped away and Clara made her way towards the bathroom to stare at herself in the mirror, hearing Martha in her head, telling her that she had to tell him she knew. She sat warily on the toilet and lifted her blouse to touch her stomach, trying desperately to remember some detail that might make it feel less like just a sad story and more like a horrible thing that had happened to her. Because she felt guilty for not feeling it. She imagined even if he'd told her, even if they'd told her the moment she'd woken, she would have cried and she would have moved on because it didn't feel real to her.

And she damned herself for that because it was a life; it was _her_ life and she should remember. What had she felt? How had it changed their lives? What had been their plans then? _How far along had she been_? It couldn't have been too far, there'd been nothing radically physically different with her when she woke in the hospital – of course, she hadn't been too preoccupied with the shape of her belly until she'd started to think about having a baby now.

_Did she know what she was having_?

Clara smiled sadly as she dropped the blouse back and finished up in the bathroom so she could slowly make her way down the stairs. Her eyes drifted over the living space as she reached the bottom step. There were still boxes settled in corners, some flattened up against walls, and she could see an assortment of notebooks piled on the coffee table that sat in front of the couch. Her writing, her doodles, her thoughts since the accident – something her therapist had suggested.

In the kitchen, she could hear him working on something. Pots were clanking against the counter and he was muttering to himself in a way that made her chuckle because she could imagine him scratching at the back of his head, brow tightly knotted, and his lips pressed together in frustration. And when she finally entered the kitchen, finding him exactly as she thought she would with an empty can in his hand as he stared down at the contents he'd just dumped into the pot, she crossed her arms at her chest and laughed as he jumped and his entire demeanor shifted.

She wanted to be angry at him for keeping her pregnancy from her; she knew she should and maybe, maybe she considered with a dropping of her lips as she turned her eyes to the ground, maybe she would one day. It was the day he was dreading, she understood – _the day she remembered_. Because now it was just a sad thought in her head: she'd been carrying a baby and she'd lost it. The notion stung her oddly as she watched him give her an anxious look as he set the can aside.

Studying him as he turned back to gesture at the stove, Clara stopped his oncoming words with a simple question, uttered almost in a whisper, "Doctor, what frightens you?"

He froze, his eyes trained on the pot in front of him as it began to bubble, and then he reached to lower the temperature before twisting slowly to face her, curious look in his eyes as he responded quietly, "How do you mean?"

With a nod, she repeated, "Whole universe; grand adventurer. You leap off at a single thought and you wander about with little regard for what's coming around the corner, so I was wondering… what frightens you most?"

Exhaling, he answered without hesitation, "Losing you."

She tried to feign a smile, but her stomach dropped at the look of worry he carried – the one he always had because he worried telling her this secret would destroy _her_, and now he worried her finding out he'd hid it would destroy _them_ – and she tilted her head to ask pensively, "Is that something you feel you should fear?"

The soup beside him made a repetitive plopping sound and he shifted, grabbing at a wooden spoon to turn the red substance she could smell was tomato with just a bit too much garlic as he gripped at the handle of the pot with his other hand. The Doctor turned twice to look at her with a frightened expression he tried to squelch with an awkward smile and Clara understood that the answer was yes. She entered the kitchen, arms hanging limp at her sides and she covered his hand on the handle with her own, guiding the pot away from the hot stovetop and then she shifted him away from the food.

He swallowed hard, staring down at the intensity with which she watched him and he offered a muttered, "How we travel; _where we go_ – there's always that _chance_. That unknown danger, like you said, lurking in the shadows that has, in the past, threatened our lives…" his voice faded and she watched his eyes redden, knowing that now, when he spoke of travelling, when he said _we_, somewhere in the back of his mind he was thinking about the child they'd lost and how they would have figured into it all.

Clara glanced back at the living room and she bit her lip before asking, "There's a photo album, it abruptly ends a few months before the crash – _had we stopped travelling, Doctor_?"

She stared at his feet before looking to her legs, to the faint difference in the texture of her left and the hyper-realistic material her new prosthetic had been made from and she took a long breath, feeling his fingers come up to round her upper arms. He told her quietly, "No, we hadn't stopped travelling."

"Why are there no photos?" Clara tried to say, but her words were barely a whisper. Barely choked out beyond the sudden wave of nausea plaguing her over the fact that she wanted him to say it, but she didn't want to have to say the words aloud – to ask the question _of him_.

His throat closed over an answer as he watched her continue to stare at their feet before she lifted her eyes slowly to his chest, glazed over with unshed tears as her hands came up to her stomach and he gasped a sob as she raised her gaze to see him staring down at her, an apology on his lips. His jaw clenched and he questioned sadly, "What have you remembered, Clara?"

Clara shrugged out of his grasp and twisted her hands together, admitting, "It's not what I've remembered, it's what I've figured out and I don't understand," she trailed, looked away before asking, "Why hadn't you told me?"

He smiled, the same sad smile he always seemed to wear, and then he admitted, "I wanted to tell you, when the time was right – I tried to tell you." He looked to her, shaking his head, "That doesn't make it right. Nothing makes it right." The Doctor lowered his head and raised the fingers of his right hand to it, rubbing at his forehead and Clara nodded slowly. "We could discuss it," he offered, hand falling away as he looked up to catch her wiping at her tears.

Lips crushing into each other, Clara shook her head and then nodded to the stove, "I just want to eat, maybe take a walk."

"We could walk," he offered, "We could travel. We could…"

"Sort of want to be _alone_," Clara shot sternly, looking to the Doctor to see his chest cave in slightly as he turned to the soup and held tight to the wooden spoon he settled against the rim. "Sorry," she sighed, "I'm sorry, _I'm upset_. I want to talk, Doctor, but I don't know what to say – _I don't even know how to feel_," she ended abruptly, shifting to land her elbows on the island at his side.

He nodded wordlessly and Clara stared at her hands as she picked at them. Moving at her side, he found bowls and he filled them, settling one next to her and he hovered there a moment, fingers lying curled against the light marble surface as he waited for her to acknowledge him, but she didn't. Clara waited until he left to reach for the food and she ate slowly, ignoring the growing knot in her stomach – _the growing anger_. Because she knew he was only trying to protect her, but Martha was right: secrets in marriage were never good.


	29. Chapter 29

There was an owl hooting somewhere in the distance and Clara had focused her attention on the noise as she sat on the park bench rubbing absently at her right thigh. Just behind her shoulder, she could see the glow of headlights approaching from a car that pulled up to the curb and shut off and she looked to her lap as she waited for her father to make his way across the sidewalk and over the dewy grass to stand at her side. She could hear his keys shifting against his palm and when he finally spoke, sinking his keys into his pocket, it was with a fear that made her exhale painfully, "Clara, _it's one in the morning _– is everything alright?"

"I know," she told him simply. She looked up to see his shoulders sag as the anxiety melted off his features, morphing into a look of sorrow while she elaborated, "I don't remember yet, but I know."

He dropped onto the bench beside her and leaned his elbows into his knees, pressing his face into his fingers and when he finally shifted back up and turned to look at her, she saw the same look on his face she'd seen in the Doctor's and it made her turn away, looking out to the empty playground as he asked, "Are you alright?"

"Dad, I'm…" she trailed, taking a small breath before finishing, "I'm ok, for now, but…" Clara frowned, lips coming together tightly as she looked back at her thighs. She could hear her father's small breaths beside her, could almost feel his stillness as he waited, and when she continued, she did so softly with a disappointed tilt of her head, "You _both_ lied to me."

Dave remained silent, taking in the way she sat calmly, turning her gaze out towards the swings gently swaying in the breeze and he watched the tear that fell over her left cheek. He wanted desperately to reach out and swipe it away, but he squeezed his hands together in his lap instead, knowing she was holding onto her temper by the tone of her voice. So much like Ellie that way, he thought with a sad smile.

"We fought about it," he admitted, "Went back and forth about whether we should tell you and then when we should tell you and we both felt like it would only stop your progress. Thought, if you knew, you'd just sort of _wither_."

Clara cleared her throat and offered, "Then you both think I'm weak."

"_No_," Dave countered adamantly, "We both admire how strong you've had to be through this; we just both know everyone has their limits."

"And losing a baby would be mine," she uttered, the words sounding broken to her own ears before she shifted and gestured, "I lost fifteen years of my life and every day I've had to reconcile that fact. Every day I was asking questions, wanting to know more while the both of you stood by harboring these secrets. Things I deserved to know." She took a breath, and then told him, "The Tardis, the travelling, the fact that my husband was an alien – _and this_? How could you two hide this? A baby, dad; _my baby_!"

Bringing her hands up, she wiped at her face, sniffling hard against new tears as she went back to rubbing her thigh, sore from too much walking, feeling a twinge of guilt that she was yelling at her father when she'd barely spoken to the Doctor. Maybe she thought her father would be easier; _she knew it was_. Clara shook her head and stood despite her aching foot and legs and she listened to her father apologize twice before she heard the creek of the bench as he rose. Clara turned to watch him shake his head with a frown, one that she hadn't seen in so long she'd forgotten he could be so sad.

"Clara," he began, but she shook her head.

She sighed and told him, "Dad, I'd rather have known than wondered – because I knew you were both keeping something from me – did you really think not knowing would be less painful?"

Taking a deep breath, Dave called, "We thought it wasn't worth the heartache, Clara – knew when you finally did remember, _it would_ break your heart."

"My heart is broken now," Clara cried, feeling her resolve crumbling. "I love you both so much and I trusted you to take care of me because I _knew_ I couldn't do this alone and all the while, knowing something was missing… knowing something was wrong and you both lied to me."

Dave took a step forward and Clara shifted back, eyes going wide as he released a breath, as though her motion had been a physical blow, and he pleaded, "Clara, please, I'm sorry and _I know he is too_ – we messed up, sweetheart."

"_You messed up_," Clara laughed weakly as fresh tears rolled down her hot cheeks. "This isn't overcooking the turkey at Christmas, dad. This is not telling me I miscarried a child."

He nodded solemnly and then dropped his hands to his sides, hanging his head and after a moment of silence, he uttered, "What do you want to know?"

"What?" Clara breathed.

Raising his eyes to meet hers, he nodded, "You're angry and you have every right to be and I want to make that right by telling you the truth – _the absolute truth_, Clara. No more lies; no more secrets," he told her with a small wave of his hand before pointing to the ground, "Right here and now, _it ends_." And then Dave asked again, slowly, "What do you want to know?"

Clara stared at the grass at his feet a moment, eyes widening with fear knowing her father was resolute, and knowing whatever she asked, she would get that answer no matter how much he thought it would hurt her. She swallowed, feeling a lump in her throat because she didn't even know where to begin, so she started by asking delicately, "Did you know, before the crash. Did you know I was pregnant?"

"Yes," he told her automatically. "You were at almost nineteen weeks," he laughed, "Just barely showing and you were so worried about that, about whether the baby was developing normally."

"Because he's an alien?" Clara interrupted.

He nodded, "Yeah, you hadn't told him you were worried though; he still doesn't know about that because you made me swear I wouldn't tell him, even though you knew we didn't talk too much anyway."

She huffed a laugh he mirrored and then she nodded, "Was it…" she began, shaking her head before lifting it boldly to ask, "Was it _normal_?"

Dave's bottom lip shook as he nodded, "Perfectly normal, Clara." Then he laughed hoarsely to add, "Aside from the two hearts." He lowered his gaze to the ground.

Clara managed a quick chuckle, turning away and pressing the knuckles of her right hand to her nose. She looked to her father, watching the tears that dropped off his chin at either side of his face and she questioned, "What was it? Did we know? What…"

"A girl," he croaked, taking a breath and straightening, "I wanted to see her, Clara, but the Doctor insisted she had to be incinerated immediately because of her biology – didn't want her falling into the wrong hands – and I agreed."

She took a step sideways towards the bench, hand reaching out because she felt her knees might buckle underneath her and she found herself holding her father's arms, being lead back to the seat as she sighed, "A girl. _I had a girl_."

Her father remained silent and his hands didn't move, simply held her as she stared at the wooden planks that comprised the back of the bench, considering that fact. Clara would have had a daughter if she hadn't crashed and now she wouldn't even have a gravesite to mourn her because she imagined he would have taken those ashes to the sun. The only good thing he could do for the baby girl they'd lost – make sure her remains weren't used for some heinous purposes.

"Can you give me a ride home," she murmured after a moment. "I've been walking for the better part of four hours and I don't think I could get back on my own."

She could see his head nodding out of the corner of her eye before he asked, "Do you want to spend the night with me, Clara, give yourself some space from him."

She laughed through tears and shook her head, turning to look at him to reply, "_Space_, no. I think him and I need to talk – _I think it's time for us to talk_ – get _us_ sorted out."

He wordlessly took her hands and helped her up, letting Clara lean against him to walk back to the car and once they were inside, he remained silent as he drove, occasionally looking over at her as she quietly cried. She hated them both for what they'd done, but she could understand why they'd done it – could understand it had been a difficult decision and she knew, Clara knew with all of her heart, that they'd felt the guilt of that decision every single day. She'd seen it in their eyes; in the way they looked away from her sometimes, as though looking at her reminded them of something and she'd always thought it was that they felt they'd let her down.

The Doctor allowing her to take the motorbike.

Her father for allowing her to decide, without her husband, to amputate her leg.

Them both for not doing enough for her through her recovery.

Dave pulled his car into the driveway and he sighed, turning to watch her as she stared up at the house with a shake of her head, "He should have told me before this," she lamented, "Before we moved into _a house_," she turned to her father and smiled weakly, "All of those empty rooms we'd talked about filling – we talked about children, dad." She swallowed roughly and nodded, "And I already know which room would have been hers because he stares at it the same way he stared at the spare room in the flat – he lingers when he passes the door – and knowing why… we could have shared that, even though I don't remember yet."

"Clara," her father interrupted, waiting until she brought her eyes up from the spot between them, "Don't beat him up too badly, he pretends to be strong, but he's already broken inside."

She laughed lightly, offering, "Listen to you, defending him."

"I know what that loss is like – how it sits in your mind and twists at your heart," Dave responded, releasing a shuddered breath when her lips dropped with understanding. "After your mum, only thing that kept me sane was knowing I still had you. You're allowed to be angry at us; we expect you to be angry at us," he laughed, "Maybe we hoped that would help you overcome the sadness. We're a little dense, us men."

She reached out for his hand and gave it a squeeze, admitting, "I'm afraid to go inside."

"Why's that, Clara?" Dave asked quietly.

Shaking her head lightly, Clara tried to smirk, but her lips simply pushed together in an awkward line as she turned her attention back to the house. She didn't want to admit to her father that she was afraid to hate her husband over this. Clara was afraid to look him in the eye and see the apology there and not care, even though she understood his intentions had been pure. Mostly, she was afraid of exactly what they were afraid of: that she would _remember_ and it _would_ destroy her.

Her father's hands both clasped around hers and he stared down at them as Clara looked back at him and she could see him wrestling with words, his grip tightening before he finally uttered, "Don't _hate_ him." They fell into a silence that felt like it might last forever before he took a small breath and continued, "Don't hate him, Clara and don't _dismiss_ his feelings, as much as it hurts yours. Don't turn your back on him because he..." he raised his eyes, bright red now as he nodded, "Listen to him; _talk to him_… let him explain and let him grieve because _he hasn't been able to_, Clara. He's wanted to and he's put it aside for you, so please, be there for _him_ now. Understand that he never meant to hurt you and understand that you need to forgive him now, as hard as that might seem, because when you remember it, Clara? When you feel it so much there's nothing else and you think the world might just end, he's going to be the one to bring you back into it. He'll be the one _saving you_, Clara. So you go in there and you do what you do – _you save him first_."

Clara understood his meaning as she considered the frown her lips were set in and the way his eyes now stared at them, urging his own up into a pained smile. She watched him blink as heavy tears dropped rapidly over his cheeks before he nodded to the house, the words 'go on' mouthed simply as he slipped back, releasing her hands. Pushing the door open, she stepped out, wincing against the soreness in her leg, and she took a long breath before taking the first step.


	30. Chapter 30

The door opened silently, save for the clicks of her key as she removed it, gripping it within her palm so tight she was sure it would leave bruises. She closed the door behind her and remained there, holding the knob as she listened to the car in the driveway pull away and when she turned, she expected him to be there, but the entranceway was dark, quiet, and empty.

Clara could feel her heart thumping roughly in her chest and her ears were starting to burn with a fear she hadn't realized she'd been harboring – what if it all became too much _for him_ and he simply stepped into his spaceship and flew away? She smiled uneasily as she slowly made her way into the living room, glancing around before turning and going into the kitchen, finding the dishes cleaned and put away. She looked down the hall towards the den before glancing up the stairs to the dim white light there.

Holding the railing, Clara made her way up slowly and her mind worked over just what she would say, because she was determined to push aside her anger and try to understand. Try to help him, as her father asked, with the hopes that it would help her. She could ask him if she could feel her yet because she knew it would have been too early for him. She could ask him what their plans had been, if they'd talked about travelling with their daughter or whether the Doctor would spend even more time Earth-bound.

She could ask him why she'd chosen yellow – _had they chosen it together_ – and whether the mural she'd been determined to paint on the wall, not understanding her desire to at the time, had been for their daughter. Her cheeks were wet warmly before she stepped into the room just across from theirs to find him standing amongst an assortment of items completely unfamiliar to her, but items that none-the-less stopped her heart.

In a corner, the Tardis cloister bell rang sadly through her open doors and Clara looked towards it to find her top light had dimmed considerably, but was still enough to light up the room. As though the machine itself were aware of the sorrow in the room at that moment. And thought she couldn't see his face, Clara could see the defeat in the Doctor's stance and it melted away the final bits of her defenses because she could remember how her father had been after her mother passed. She'd done her best to keep him happy, but there were moments when the sadness seeped in. The loss and the brokenness that hid inside that wasn't so easily covered over with a few jokes, or a few trips out for ice cream. They were feelings that had to be coaxed back into the darkness; feelings that never quite went away, Clara understood, because she'd fought the same battle.

The Doctor's sniffle shifted her focus back to him and she asked quietly, "Were these hers?"

He laughed and her hand came up to her chest, the pained sound having punched the air out of her lungs. He'd been crying, she knew, but he stood with his back to the light, a silhouette holding something tightly within his palms and then he uttered pitifully, "Yes."

Nodding slowly, Clara looked at the cubicle set and she reached out to touch the pastel colored cloth boxes, still in their wrappers. She smiled because she could see, immediately, how she would have arranged them in their flat and she knew where she'd put them in this room – _in her room_. Leaning lightly against the furniture she stared at the opposite wall, listening to his small fractured breaths and then she felt him step closer and she turned away. Clara dropped her head slightly, eyes closed, and she heard him sigh her name and she frowned because she could still hear her father's plea and she'd done it, she'd physically turned her back on the Doctor.

"Please, Clara," he managed as she steeled herself, afraid to look into his eyes and see how much this was hurting him.

"Where was this?" Clara asked, making a slow careful circle back towards him, keeping her eyes trained on the waistcoat unbuttoned at his chest, "Where did you have all of this?"

He gestured back, "Special room in the Tardis," then he chuckled in ragged coughs, "_Her room_ in the Tardis; I knew you would want to see it all again, when you remembered. I had hoped it would help you cope."

Clara glanced at the box just beside her foot and she smiled, reaching for the diaper bag inside to lift it up and laugh, finally finding the Doctor's eyes to admit, "I looked at this just the other day, on some website."

His lips quivered as he told her, "You ordered it as soon as we knew it was a girl; arrived the day before the crash. You were going to make her whole room match – flowers and butterflies, _frilly girly things_, I'd teased you." His voice left him and Clara watched him slump slightly, looking into the other box that sat on the ground.

She could see the clothes inside and when she reached for a pack of socks, Clara heard him muffle a sob with his palm and she chanced to look up at him as she raised them to examine the pale pink, yellow, and lavender pairs that sat neatly inside. "Doctor?"

Hand falling away, he nodded shortly and then stretched his hand to her and she could see it was a white envelope he'd been holding. Clara's head shifted sideways as she tentatively took it. "You asked about the photos before, about why they ended. We kept travelling," he finished simply as she flipped open the fold and found a small stack of photos, "We stayed in times and places that were less dangerous because we knew you carrying my child came with unknowable risks to begin with..." he quieted and waited and Clara had to look away from his tears.

Instead she dropped her gaze to the first image of them in purple jogging suits, a photo that looked to be self-taken via her mobile, herself holding a paper on which was printed gibberish. She presumed the Tardis had translated it for her on that planet and she smiled because she knew she was looking at them the day they'd found out. Clara had been holding the results of an exam in her hand that told her she was pregnant and the both of them were beaming.

"_You were so happy_," the Doctor supplied, "Because I'd told you not to get your hopes up; not to be saddened if it didn't happen straight away, or ever, and when we least expected it, we were expecting."

She bit her lip as she flipped through the photos, seeing the places they'd travelled to, as well as photos of them at home. Clara held a photo of the Doctor painting the walls of that room on which she'd written 'Daddy's handling the heavy duty painting so mummy doesn't inhale too many fumes' on the back. The photos, she knew, he'd hidden because of her notes, little reminders of what had happened that day. Little messages for their daughter to find as she grew older so she knew how very much her parents had looked forward to her.

_ 'You made mummy very sick today, but daddy took us to Faraswara to make it better.'_

_ 'I found your first hat on Pefin, daddy was upset it wasn't a fez.'_

_ 'Grandad came with us to meet Galileo, after a bit of fighting they're now best mates.'_

_ 'The clerics of Sorfura blessed you and mummy and gave daddy a crown.'_

_ 'Your old mum and dad in Space Disney; we'll be taking you soon.'_

Clara felt her bottom lip begin to shake when she saw the photo of herself sitting calmly on the couch at what looked like dusk, her blouse pulled up and the elastic of her maternity jeans pulled away to reveal the bump of her belly. Her lips were curled into a calm smile and her eyes were closed and she could see the fingers of her left hand resting just underneath her stomach. The Doctor turned away just as she flipped it over and read aloud, "I think I felt you for the first time today. I can't wait to hold you," and her own voice faded away on tears.

"I'm sorry I hadn't told you, Clara," the Doctor managed, inhaling roughly as Clara hesitantly swung the photo to the back of the pile to find herself looking down at the first of several scans.

"This is her," she gasped, brow knotting as her eyes widened, bringing the photo closer as her finger traced over the shape of their baby's head and stomach, "Oh my stars, _this is her_."

Clara closed her eyes tightly, feeling warm streams carve paths over her cheeks before dropping off her chin and for a moment she held her breath. She wanted to remember so desperately, but her memories ended on a cold February night after that horrible Christmas when she'd laid in the Doctor's arms in her bedroom, both finally succumbing to their feelings for one another. Clara could remember how she'd asked him question after question about whether them consummating their relationship would affect her, or whether it could affect him. Alien germs or human germs, or diseases, and whether she should worry he was more potent than a human and whether they needed alien protection.

About what would happen if she accidentally got pregnant.

She smiled when she recalled his light laugh as he'd shaken his head and replied calmly with a soft kiss. Opening her eyes, she looked up into his tear stained face and she reached out to set the photos down atop the wooden cubicles before stepping towards him. Clara nodded slowly and when she spoke, it came at the only volume she could achieve – a wavering whisper

"You made a mistake with good intentions."

She smiled fleetingly when he exhaled, knowing he expected her to lash out at him. The Doctor understood it was well within her right to be angry with him, to hate him, and he felt the hollowness of the past few months beginning to fill with a small flicker of hope that maybe she wouldn't. Not _entirely_.

With a slow nod, he gestured to the items and croaked, "You deserved the truth and I wanted you to be strong enough to accept it, but I should have told you in your flat. Before we bought this home. Maybe, if you'd had the truth then…"

"I wouldn't have wanted to stay with you?" Clara asked quietly. "Doctor, I'm upset that I didn't know – that you and my dad kept this from me, but that doesn't mean I love either of you any less. We all do horrible things sometimes – _even Time Lords aren't infallible._"

He laughed between small sobs, his hands coming up to the sides of his neck momentarily before dropping away and he bent slightly to tell her, "I am _so sorry_, Clara."

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she reached out for his hands, taking them firmly within hers, and she shook her head, whimpering, "_I'm sorry_, Doctor," he shook his head, but she continued, "I'm sorry because this is your loss as well – as much _yours_ as _mine_. She was _our_ daughter," Clara stopped because she choked on the word, and she smiled up at him to finish, "And all of this time you've bottled up this pain to lift my spirits. To help me get well enough to tell me. You sacrificed your right to mourn her death, prolonging your own torment, to try and ready me for mine."

The thought made her chuckle as she looked down at his hands as they curled around hers and she could hear his breathing shift, could hear the oncoming storm of tears and Clara thought about how oddly right it seemed that she could be his anchor now and later on, when those memories did surface, he would be hers. She leaned her head into his chest and released his hands so he could wrap them around her and she listened to his labored breath as he unleashed months of pain as she worked to concentrate on his heartbeats and how they pounded against her ear. Clara lifted her hands and wound them around him as he shook, gripping her to his body firmly, and she cried quietly because she'd woken from that coma feeling like something had been missing from her life and she'd known then – even before they'd told her – that it hadn't been the memories.

She understood now that it had been her daughter, _it was still her daughter_, and she wondered, momentarily, if her memories had been erased by the trauma to her head, or by the shock of knowing she'd lost her baby girl. Clara wondered if she'd reverted back to before the hurting, before the accident and before the baby and before Christmas and before the time stream. Before the Maitlands and before her mother's death. She'd gone back to the last time everything felt normal and easy and she closed her eyes as the Doctor settled his cheek atop her head, swaying lightly with her in his arms.

Clara led him towards their bedroom and she cradled his head against her breast as he slowly drifted to sleep while she sat leaned up into the headboard. She stroked her fingers through his hair and smiled because somehow she imagined their little girl would have had a mane of his unruly locks and she'd have had that twinkle in her eye first thing every morning that wouldn't have dwindled until she slept. Clara never thought she'd see the day when the light in the Doctor's eyes went dark, but she'd seen it in that room and she took a long breath before shifting out from his grasp and going back into it.

Smiling at the objects there, she moved past them and stepped into the Tardis with a sad grin as the machine slowly turned her lights up for her. "Hello," Clara said plainly.

The Tardis rang her cloister bell in response.

"I know," Clara replied, "He's sleeping; thought it best he rest right now and I thought maybe I could go to her room," she lowered her head to add, "Now, before it becomes painful to."

Around her the lights went dark, slowly, until just one stood illuminated, just beyond the console, in the corridor. Clara glanced up at the center and then she moved to that light, gasping as it went out and another further down the hall flickered on. She followed them until she came to a door and once she reached it, she nodded to it and she asked quietly, "Could I please see her room?"

The door remained shut and Clara bit her lip while giving a half turn as her eyes welled up because she understood without asking – he'd ordered the machine to lock the door to save her the pain of seeing it. And Clara let her back slam into the wall at her side and she brought her hands to her face to weep openly without the Doctor there to see her. She dropped her hands and shouted out, listening to her voice echo slightly in the silence of the stilled Tardis and then she slumped to the ground, grimacing when her right leg bent painfully, the prosthetic pulling awkwardly at her stump and she fell to her side, reaching out in anger to detach the limb and toss it against the door with another pathetic yelp.

"Please," she mumbled, "Please let me see her room."

Clara watched the door warily, but it refused to open.


	31. Chapter 31

Clara woke with a small jump of confusion, the echoes of a child's laughter fading from a dream quickly drifting from her memory, and she looked around at the carefully made bed she was lying in, baffled to find herself back in her room, but she knew the Doctor wouldn't have slept long. He'd gone to find her and, she knew, he'd have known exactly where to. Letting herself drop back against the pillow, she raised an arm to drape over her eyes and she took several long breaths, surprised to find herself trembling.

Shifting her arm away, she felt the sweat at her brow and she brought her hand to her chest to feel the rapid beating of her heart. "_Doctor_," Clara called out.

She could hear his footsteps pounding up the steps and when he jumped into the room, she turned her attention to him and shook her head slightly, uncertain about what to tell him and he was by her side in an instant, feeling her temperature and taking her wrist to judge her pulse. "You've been tossing about with nightmares for the past few hours," he told her softly.

Nodding, Clara took in the residual puffiness around his eyes in the golden light coming in through the blinds over his pale face and she asked, "What time is it?"

His free hand twisted so he could look to his watch and he supplied simply, "Almost five."

She began to shift, to push up from the bed, but he smiled sadly and eased her back down as she argued, "It's five in the afternoon, Doctor, I should…"

"Rest," he interrupted. "Found you in the Tardis, after I woke." He frowned, "I'm sorry I hadn't changed the parameters on her door to allow you entrance, Clara; sort of got lost in the worry…" he trailed, meeting her eyes as he laid her palm back down atop her stomach. "I believe you're winding down from an anxiety attack."

Clenching her jaw, Clara nodded.

"Had you experienced this before?" The Doctor asked curiously.

"Sort of a tightening of the chest, hot and a bit sweaty for no reason, complete lack of focus…" she stopped her description because she could see the concern on his face, the brow that came together as his lips went white from pressing against one another. "Maybe once or twice since the accident."

"You should see a doctor," he raised a hand as she started to say Martha's name, and told her simply, "A different sort of doctor, Clara."

She shook her head, telling him quietly, "No, I know what you're thinking."

With a weak smile, he asked, "What am I thinking, Clara?"

"You want me medicated; you think it'll be easier if I'm medicated," she shot, pushing past his attempts to keep her lying down so she could sit up and stare into him fiercely. "I learned a long time ago that life doesn't always play the hand you expected and you have to learn to work with that."

He shifted sideways and sighed and Clara watched him struggle with what to tell her. It unnerved her that he didn't know what to say, or at least didn't want to speak his thoughts aloud. He was the Doctor, he was the man who always had something eloquent – something _perfectly planned_ – to make everyone feel better, or at least feel as though there were hope. And now he sat with his attention trained on a space in the corner of the room, eyes glazed over with a muted thought as she waited.

"I'm not being medicated," Clara shot, shifting beside him so she could reach for her crutch to make her way into the bathroom to ready herself for a shower.

"Clara," he called weakly, the sound of his voice hollow through the closed door. She waited, hating how the silence made her head spin, and then he finally sighed sadly, "I'm going to pop off for a bit, look into something on Atraxia – be back for dinner." He stopped and she heard him take a breath before asking, "Is that alright?"

Pressing her forehead to the door, she inhaled raggedly as she closed her eyes and managed a high-pitched, "Yeah, alright."

He remained on the other side for a moment, his palm coming up to rub gently against the wood as Clara listened to his skin slip over the coarse surface, and then he stepped away slowly, making his way into the other room where, after a very long few minutes of silence, the Tardis dematerialized. Clara exhaled and pushed off the door, setting her crutch down against the wall to look at herself in the mirror. She could see why he'd been concerned – her face was tinted a pale green and she turned away from the emptiness in her eyes.

She should have offered to go with him, she thought as she plucked off her blouse and let her skirt fall to the ground. It was probably what he'd been expecting; it was what he'd been hoping for and instead she'd let him leave. Clara huffed angrily while carefully holding to the railings at the edge of the tub to swing herself into her seat and once she was underneath the hot spray of water, she cried softly because the anger had drifted to sadness knowing he was off by himself after what had happened last night.

_Thinking she didn't want to be with him_.

Thinking that maybe she'd let him be sad for the night, but now she'd give him the cold shoulder and shut him out bitterly just when he thought it might be ok for them to start mourning together. Squeezing the loofah in her hand, she concentrated on the soap suds that dropped over her legs and she controlled her breathing, not having realized how it had quickened. How she'd worked herself back up into a dizzying state where she could hear her heart thudding in her ears but couldn't hear the sound of the shower pounding down on her.

"_Calm down_, Clara," she urged, knowing if what she was experiencing became a pattern – an _uncontrollable_ pattern – she'd be forced by her therapist onto drugs she didn't want. "Just _breathe_," she whispered, reaching out for the metal at either side of her to hold tight to them to keep herself steady because the small space had begun to spin.

It was several minutes before she was able to bathe, carefully and slowly scrubbing away at her body meticulously and when she stepped back out into her bedroom, she immediately shivered against the feverish temperature of her skin against the chilled air assaulting her. She quickly pulled on her clothes and set her prosthetic and then slowly made her way into the other bedroom, frowning because all of her daughter's belongings had been removed, placed back in her room on the Tardis… where Clara couldn't see to be reminded.

And she knew now he was trying to prevent that, the shock of those memories flooding her without warning when he was away. Clara smiled faintly, trying to think he was _just_ protecting her, before she quietly moved down the stairs and into the kitchen where she found a covered tray and a note. Head tilting, she approached it cautiously and plucked the folded sheet up to slip it open in her hand and look over his writing.

_I didn't want you to worry, there's a bit of a war I might be able to put an end to. Misunderstandings and such – you know how uncivilized populations can be. Quite frankly, just how civilized populations can be. Fighting over nonsense when a moment's pause, a moment's consideration, a moment's explanation could have both parties dancing a lovely salsa and enjoying chips instead of trading bombs and jabs. I'll be home as soon as possible, but not as soon as I could be. I know we still need to talk; I hope we'll still talk. – The Doctor_

She laid the note down open on the counter and lifted the lid to find cold toast and scrambled eggs waiting underneath and she sighed, pulling open a drawer to secure a fork with which to pile the items together into a sandwich she ate lazily. After a moment she laughed to herself, mouth full, as she realized he'd made her breakfast in the evening because she'd just woken up, and she swallowed roughly as she began to cry again because the Doctor would be a fantastic, _albeit erratic_, father.

Clara swiped at the tears on her face as she set the plate into the sink and then moved back towards the stairs, already hearing the Tardis and by the time she was halfway up the stairs, he was urgently rushing from the bedroom to the space above her and she smiled up at him, uttering quietly, "Hello."

"Have I been gone long?" He questioned.

She shrugged, "I just finished my breakfast."

He frowned and checked his watch, "I'm so sorry, I'd intended to be gone an hour at most…"

"Doctor," she interrupted, "I just finished the breakfast you left me."

Smiling anxiously, he nodded and then gestured back, "Solved it."

"Casualties?" She questioned.

He beamed back proudly, "None to speak of."

"I'm sorry I wasn't with you," she admitted.

But he shook his head and climbed down the steps slowly to stop two steps beneath her so they stood at eye level to one another and he reached up to brush the hair off her shoulders before giving her arm a rub, "I would understand if you needed time," then his eyes widened as he shrugged and offered, "Or a few quick swings," he turned slightly and gestured at his shoulder, "Just try not to make them all in the same spot."

Clara laughed lightly, reaching out to plant her hands at his shoulders before she straightened him to kiss his forehead and then dropped her forehead to his. They sighed together before she told him, "Doctor, I don't need to beat you up, and I don't need time. I need you to tell me the truth, even if it hurts us. I need you to hope with all of the love in both of your hearts that I'll be ok. And I need to know that you'll be there for me if I'm not."

He was nodding slowly against her, his own hands rising to settle at her waist. "You have me."

She smiled because she knew he meant that she had all of him, for anything she wanted; she smiled because she knew there would be no more secrets. Clara smiled because he kissed her gently then and his arms slipped around her differently than they had the night before. Instead of the desperation, there was a unity behind this hug, a knowledge that they were no longer singular in their suffering and confusion, but joined as they should have been all along, to find a path out of the dark shadow of the past. To be each other's light, just as they'd promised each other when they'd wed.

With a quiet laugh, she shifted away to look down at the bright green of his eyes, reddened with the threat of new tears, and when he blinked she wiped at them with her thumbs before they could finish their trail over his cheeks and she sighed. Clara nodded slowly and then asked, "Could we go somewhere together? Take our minds off it all for a bit – I think we deserve that."

He grinned sadly and asked, "Time or Space?"

Clara managed a laugh as she responded, "You spend so much time trying to make me happy, why not go to your favorite place – I don't think you've ever told me where your favorite place is."

Glancing around, he narrowed his eyes and feigned disappointment as he uttered, "That's because we haven't really got far to move to get there."

She hung her arms around his shoulders and shook her head, but before she could tease him, he lifted her off the ground and rushed up the steps with her towards their bedroom, dropping her down into the tussled sheets and Clara released a howl of a laugh as he dug his fingers into her knowingly before falling to her side to rest his palm atop her stomach while he waited for her to chuckle away the last of her laughter to find his gaze and then lay her own hand atop his.

"Clara," he began slowly, watching their fingers twist together, "I'd understand, if you want to put a hold on our plans…"

She inched up to kiss him, pushing at him until he was on his back and she leaned over him, shaking her head and shifting to sit at his side, lying over his stomach and finding his hand again, bringing it to her lips and then mingling his fingers with her own at his chest. The heartbeats of one heart thumped just underneath her wrist and she sighed at the feeling, telling him, "Dad said she had two hearts, like you."

The Doctor exhaled and nodded, massaging at her hand with his thumb, "She was beautiful, like you."

Clara met his stare and her cheeks went hot as she took a breath to ask, "You saw her?"

His lips drifted up quickly at a memory before they fell into a frown and he turned his attention to the ceiling to admit quietly, "I held her for just a moment. Just over a half a pound and she fit in one hand," he laughed as his eyes welled and Clara shifted, turning and keeping hold of his hand as she rested her head in the crook of his arm, glancing up at him and waiting, "She held on, Clara. Made it through the first few hours and I thought maybe she would pull through, but the stress of the accident was just too much for you, for her..." Turning on her side, Clara swiped at her tears and she clung to the Doctor as he recounted his terror, thinking Clara wouldn't survive her own body's instinctual rejection of their baby to preserve Clara's life.

She quietly cried into his chest as he spoke about the paleness of Clara's skin and the way she laid deadly still in her coma as it all occurred. The Doctor told her she'd lost so much blood he'd been certain she would die and he spoke of the silence that fell over the room as the doctors and nurses dutifully did their best to keep their baby alive. He kissed her forehead and shifted to hold her because Clara had dissolved into sobs against him, finally hearing the most horrible of truths.

He stroked at her hair and told her proudly through his own tears, "For a few wonderful minutes she held on; _she tried,_ Clara – she fought for us, but she was suffering and I told her it was ok to let go because I couldn't stand the thought of her hurting anymore… _and she did_."


	32. Chapter 32

They strolled over a valley of what looked like swaying sunflowers and Clara smiled faintly at one just to her right that swung slowly in her direction, misting her with its pollen before she turned back to see the Doctor lifting the right side of his coat to cover his face and she managed a laugh as he muttered, "They're trying to shoot me in the mouth."

"It's your imagination, Doctor," she called back.

His finger came up and wagged about as he told her, "For breeding purposes, they assume us to be other flowers and considering our structural biology to theirs, our faces should be a point of attack."

She tilted her head and offered, "I've yet to be hit in the face – _maybe they don't like you_."

"_Or maybe I'm wrong_," the Doctor uttered as he straightened, watching as she shifted slightly, sending her dark skirt twirling over her thighs and he could see the multiple golden splotches over it. Turning to the closest flowers, he whipped his Sonic out and ran it quickly over them, staring at the results and laughing nervously before allowing, "They're male."

Clara's movements stopped and she frowned down at herself and then her face contorted as she considered the pollination of her skirt before she began to laugh softly, gesturing up at him. He watched her in confusion a moment before his features softened as her hand came up to cover her mouth, her eyes having disappeared behind a laugh. Despite everything she now knew, _in spite_ of everything she now knew, Clara had maintained that terrible things happened – _life_ happened – but no matter how down they found themselves, they couldn't forget to _live_.

They'd laid in that bed together for an hour after he'd told her how their daughter had spent her last moments, neither of them saying a word, simply crying quietly together. After their shared tears, he'd glanced down at her every so often to find her staring blankly into his side, or to the wall across from them, and then her face would crumple and she would succumb to more tears. He imagined it was partially out of guilt for not having a single memory of the baby girl she'd lost, but knowing her daughter had suffered trying to do the very thing Clara strove to do herself – fight to _live_ in spite of the horrors of life – gave her a connection to the child. Clara's girl would have had her spirit and the notion crushed her; _the reality of that fact made her daughter real_.

Not just _a story_ he told, but _an extension_ of Clara stolen away prematurely.

The Doctor knew her heart was broken, just as his had been over the death, but he hoped knowing the truth mended her just as being able to finally tell her had relieved him of some of the guilt he'd been carrying. Clara didn't blame him – _at least not yet_ – and that had been one of his fears. Just as her father had blamed him, blamed him for not being able to change her past, he feared Clara would as well, but she remained, clinging to his side, trying to calm her breathing while searching her memories.

And he'd known she'd been trying desperately to remember then.

Eventually they both had gone silent, numb to the sirens in the distance, the children shouting at one another as they headed for their homes, and the birds that chirped away through the dusk hours. She remained pressed into him, her cheek against his breast and he concentrated on her warm breaths and the rise and fall of her bosom against his ribs wondering if she'd fallen asleep because he couldn't see her eyes through the long bangs that curled over her forehead.

Then she'd rolled onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. He'd watched her then, her eyes focused on a spot as her mind worked over a thought and he'd wanted to ask her, but he felt he hadn't deserved to know. After all of the lies and all of the secrets, Clara deserved to keep her own if she chose and he'd allowed her that, trusting that when she was ready to share with him, she would.

"_Let's go somewhere_," she'd stated.

"_Clara, if there's one thing I've learned after a thousand years of running away, it's that_…" he'd started.

But she'd interrupted, "_I'm not running away from this, Doctor. One day I'm going to remember how I felt when I first found out about her and one day I'm going to remember her inside of me and one day I'm going to remember all of the things I had hoped for her. Specifically for her_." Clara had sat up and without looking to him, she'd told him, "_Doctor, let's go on an adventure_."

He'd shifted up and bounced over the bed to sit at her side, holding his hand out and he felt the chill he hadn't realized was freezing his hearts melt away as she took his hand again. The Doctor had nodded, knowing from his conversation with Dave that it's what her mother would have said. Not to run away from the pain, but to live with it; to continue on in honor of the moments they'd lost and the child they mourned and he took her to the first planet he'd thought to take their baby girl.

A planet covered in a perpetual bloom of flowers that hid a population of smallish colorful winged creatures who chirped and smiled and knew little of anger or hate or sadness or sorrow. It was where they were headed now, past the sunflowers that were growing in height, through a forest of leafy giants that sheltered them from the patches of rain that felt daintily from the puffs of clouds in the bright blue sky over the taller vegetation and he smiled as she looked up through the branches to see the light from the three stars that slowly spun their way around the planet.

"It's amazing they've never crashed," Clara called, her voice muted by the croaks of monstrous amphibians that sat in the puddles around their feet. "Three stars racing around a planet, how do they not crash, Doctor?"

He leapt over a log and watched her laugh lightly as he landed with a frightened yelp and Clara waited for him to catch up, to gesture up through the oversized branches towards that sky to say, "They don't crash, Clara, because it's not a race – it's a perfectly choreographed dance. One that began millions of years ago, slowly pulling together bits and pieces floating about in space to form a planet. They used to move quicker, days passing in seconds, but as the mass at their center of gravity grew, they slowed and they'll continue slowing."

"The planet will continue to expand?" Clara asked quietly.

"Slower and slower as time goes on, but yes, and eventually those stars won't crash into one another," he told her sadly, "They'll skim through the atmosphere they've created, swirling the gasses and killing off the vegetation and, eventually, the life. What doesn't evolve to escape to the stars will perish here and eventually those stars will embed themselves into the planet, and it'll lie dormant in space."

Clara frowned and offered, "That's horrible."

"That's the universe, Clara – and unfortunately everything has a beginning and an end."

Lifting her chin defiantly, she replied quietly, "I understand that concept, Doctor, but the very stars who created the planet then destroying it?" She shook her head, "It would be like parents who killed their own child."

He watched the sadness that dropped onto her face and the way her shoulders slumped and he reached for her, turning her quickly to tell her, "You didn't kill her, Clara."

"I was four months pregnant on a motorbike," she replied, raising her reddened eyes to meet his. "Her life was in my hands and I chose to…"

"_Continue doing what you'd been doing for years_," he interrupted. "Clara," he stroked her hair, "It could have happened in a car; it could have happened on the tube or in a plane or simply walking, even standing still."

She nodded slowly, lips turning up slightly before she asked mutedly, "How far to the Soonari?"

He dropped his palm into hers and wrapped his fingers around her hand, waiting to feel her warm digits squeeze back in appreciation before he turned his chin to point into the dense forest, "Not too far, I'm actually surprised they haven't come out to greet us."

And just then he heard a fluttering, heard her gasp at his side and when he turned to look, there was a thin being the size of a small cat flying in the air at her side, one long arm reaching towards Clara as it's small humanoid face mimicked the frown she wore. He stood still, taking in the sunset colored wings that flapped rapidly behind it and the way it continued to move closer to Clara until it landed stealthily on her shoulder, carefully caressing her face and eventually it nuzzled into her, making a tiny sad moan before it gave a hiccup and purred against her cheek.

The Doctor watched as others approached slowly, cautiously, and surrounded her, some hugging at her arms and others at her legs, lightly swatting away the pollen on her skirt, two giving her prosthetic light pats as they hummed to it. She smiled and her hand came out of his as he shifted back, knowing they had sensed her sadness and they aimed to drive it away with their love. Two smaller Soonari quickly darted out, straight to Clara's face and her eyes widened as they studied her, tugging at her cheeks and running their thin hands over her brow and then they moved around her in a quick twirl of yellow lights before settling against her stomach to join in the humming the others were doing.

"They want you to be happy," the Doctor told her quietly, "They don't understand sadness, but they understand soothing – this is how the mothers soothe their young, with hugs and singing."

She was nodding, before she asked, "Can I touch them?"

His head bopped quickly and he told her enthusiastically, "They would see it as a sign of affection, of you welcoming _their_ affection and they would be pleased. _Yes_, Clara, you can touch them."

Moving slowly to avoid frightening the Soonari attached to each of her arms, she curled her palms around the two younglings at her midsection and they both released chirps of laughter and as Clara laughed with them, the Soonari came loose from her body and began a dance around her and the Doctor through the air, zipping about happily. Clara released another small laugh and the two younger aliens at her belly made their way up to snuggle on either side of her neck and Clara asked quietly, "Could I take a photo?"

The Doctor took the phone she was slowly pulling from the pocket in her skirt and he chuckled as he aimed the camera and watched her smile. It wasn't quite the ecstatic smile he'd gotten used to after the accident, it was more subdued, lips pressed firmly together, dimply deep in her left cheek, but it was still a welcome sight knowing she was going over his admission in her mind regularly now. He snapped the photo, showing the flying beings that were buzzing just over his shoulders and pointing at the phone he held. And they laughed at the image before beckoning the Doctor and Clara to follow them into the forest towards their home.

"They're inviting us for dinner," he told her.

Clara wrinkled her nose to ask, "Aren't they afraid we'll eat it all," and then she laughed because the two creatures on her decided to shift into her hair to begin weaving through it, combing through her locks and making conversation between them.

Shaking his head, the Doctor supplied, "No, they've got more than enough. They harvest from the forest and are amazing at natural preservation of food product," and he pointed, "Looks like they're enjoying you."

Clara reached into her hair and she felt the small wet pecks of their lips on her skin before they hugged her fingers and shifted to settle into her palms, their long legs dangling onto her wrists and their wings curled around their bodies like blankets. Walking next to the Doctor, Clara watched them as they lazily sang to one another in her hands and for a moment she stiffened and the two creatures scrambled to sit upright, sensing her shift in mood, frowning up at her until she offered a sigh and a smile and then they relaxed.

The Doctor turned his attention ahead, towards the curtain of lights they would be moving through and he listened to her trying to hum along to appease the small creatures. He bowed his head, and as soon as he crossed the curtain he felt several Soonari swoop in his direction, attaching to his extremities to hug him forcefully as one came to lift his chin and kiss at his nose, trying to alleviate him of the ache he felt, watching Clara hum to the small beings lying in her palms.


	33. Chapter 33

Clara was laughing heartily with Martha, neither caring about the looks they were receiving as they bent slightly towards one another. Shifting back in her chair, Clara wet her throat with warm tea and settled her palms on the table, watching the other woman wiping at the corners of her eyes while shaking her head. When they'd finally quieted, they shared a small smile of appreciation and Clara was grateful that she felt she was finally getting her life back.

She still didn't have all of her memories, but her classes were going well and her friendships were re-establishing themselves. And though she could still sense the tension in the Doctor, worrying when she'd remember their baby, the cloud that had been hanging over him for months had vanished with the truth and they'd resumed a casual affair with travelling and a salacious appetite for one another. Something the woman in front of her knew far too much about, though Clara presumed it was fair – she knew far too much about Mickey Smith and his antics as well. She supposed if the two men ever found out what Clara and Martha had discussed; they'd chose to travel together to the end of the universe.

"They made him a king, didn't they," Martha coughed.

Clara nodded, "Straight away, handed him a fur cape and everything."

With a swipe of her hand through the air, Martha said, "Oh, I _bet_ he flaunted that for too long."

"_Still_ wears it around the house in the evening – likes to tap that crown and I have to remind him I can swipe it off his head just as easily as I can a fez," Clara told her as she shook her head and sighed. "That man," she chuckled, "He'd wear it in bed if I let him."

Martha went red in the cheeks to tease, "Has he worn it…" and she nodded to Clara.

Biting her lip and looking away, Clara listened to the other woman break into another series of hoarse giggles as she took another sip of tea and shrugged, "Guess a little playfulness around the house is always welcome."

They both settled back into their oversized chairs and smirked at one another before Martha's lips dropped slightly and she winced to ask, "Aren't you two going at it a bit much? I mean, he's over a thousand, you don't want to go breaking his back – _last_ regeneration, isn't that what you said?"

Clara chewed the inside of her cheek and blushed before admitting, "Sort of _like_ it – how many blokes'll romance you by taking you to the moon just to tell you how beautiful you are in the Earth light? Bit of a turn on, really."

"Suppose if I'd been on the moon for that reason, we'd have had an entirely different relationship. _Well_, maybe not, but I see what you're saying," Martha laughed before shaking her head, "But also, _you know_ about the baby now."

It was a complicated matter, Clara knew, and it was hard to explain to others. She felt sad about it. There were moments when she cried in the shower as she ran a loofah over her stomach, or she found herself sadly staring at the books on her shelf she'd want to read to her, or her lips trembled as she looked over an advert in the paper for little girl's clothes she knew she should be buying. And those were the moments it struck her hardest. It had been long enough since the accident – she would have had her baby girl; she _should_ have had her, suckling her breast underneath a nursing blanket as she chatted with Martha about projectile vomiting and messy nappies.

Every so often she thought about it, about how she would have looked, how much she imagined she would have weighed in her arms, how she would have smiled easily and waved her limbs about clumsily. Clara knew odds were she would have had big brown eyes and a peppering of light locks that would darken with time and she imagined she'd have had chubby cheeks, dimpled by her parents. She saw that face often when she daydreamed and sometimes she imagined the small voice that would squeal up at her in delight and in those moments, she allowed herself a cry in private, or she went to find the Doctor.

To curl up into his chest and tell him what had happened because he would understand. He would press kisses into her hair and he would dance with her and distract her with stories of distant planets and peoples until she found herself wound up in asking questions. And they'd either travel to experience those places first hand, or they'd fall into bed to make love until her eyelids drooped and her body burned from exhaustion.

Taking in a long breath, Clara nodded and she supplied, "Yes, I know about our baby, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to be with him; it's quite the opposite, actually. I remember us and I know what we _could have had _– I know what we want and there's no reason we shouldn't still _want_ it."

The other woman watched her a moment and Clara felt awkward, picking at her fingers and then reaching out for a bite of her sandwich as she listened to Martha ask lightly, "Clara, are you _trying_ to get pregnant again?"

She shrugged and then smiled, shifting her eyes to take in Martha's excited expression before she nodded almost indiscernibly and offered, "We were hoping…" she began, but Martha let out a squeal and pushed away from the table to rush around, bending to hug her.

"The idea's still so crazy, but I'm so happy for you," Martha gasped as she shifted back and then fell into her cushiony seat, laughing, "Though, the Doctor – _this_ Doctor – and a baby; you'd have your hands full," with a small shake of her head in amusement.

Clara's lips lifted automatically because she could see him clearly, pacing their living room, or the Tardis console space, tiny bundle in his arms. The Doctor working feverishly to tell their baby some wild story, his free arm flailing about, fingers occasionally shifting the blanket or brushing against a small round cheek, and she knew the man would be glowing. He would smile down at their child with enough adoration to make Clara's knees weak and she had a sudden thought, one that shifted Martha's glee to concern as Clara turned to look at her.

"He's a time travelling alien," Clara breathed.

Glancing sideways, Martha's jaw dropped as she uttered, "Uh, yeah, Clara – I really hoped you'd figured that part out before…"

"No," she lifted a hand, "I mean," she took a small breath, "Maybe he could fix my leg."

Shaking her head, Martha asked, "Like, stop the accident? No, it'll create paradoxes or something…"

"No, I mean literally fix it, like find some planet that re-grows limbs." Clara's eyes came up, "Martha, I could get my leg back."

Frowning, Martha looked down at the prosthetic hidden underneath a set of black tights, and she shrugged, telling her honestly, "I think if that were an option, he'd have told you already."

Tilting her head, Clara replied, "This is the Doctor – probably slipped his mind, or he hasn't wanted to give me false hope while he looks for just the right place to go."

But she could see the concern in Martha's second sad look down at her leg and she slumped back again as Martha shook her head, "You should ask him; if it's on your mind."

"You've travelled with him," Clara offered with a nod, "You think it can't be done."

"I don't know what to think," Martha answered honestly, "I've seen some pretty crazy things, but if there's something I've learned, it's that there are prices to pay for the wonders out there and I don't know if you want to risk it, for what, exactly?"

Clara straightened and her brow dropped as she uttered, "It wouldn't be for vanity."

Leaning forward, Martha touched her right knee, giving it a small squeeze and a sympathetic frown to show she hadn't thought that of Clara as she told her quietly, "Chances are, if there is a way to do it, it would be painful. There would be side effects. You might lose it again, and even if you didn't – you'd get back here and tell people what? Surgery that doesn't exist?"

Clara sighed and Martha took her hands and she admitted, "I always imagined I'd be a pretty good mum, but while I know I'd still be good, I wouldn't be able to run to her bedside straight away if she cries in the middle of the night. I'd have to…"

"Let the Doctor pace with her at two in the morning? Let him be the one to run with her if there's trouble because you're afraid you'll fall easier with your prosthetic and you'd want your hands free to get back up so you don't die? Allow _him_ to be a pretty good _dad_?"

With a shy laugh, Clara mumbled, "Guess that's not _so_ bad."

"You wouldn't be having a baby alone, you'd be with the Doctor and firstly, he rarely sleeps, so never worry about your baby waiting on someone in the middle of the night. Secondly, chances are he'd pick you and that baby up to run you to safety because he's insane and does insane things." Martha laughed with her as she shifted back. "You're a team, Clara. From what I've heard, have sort of been that for longer than you've been travelling together," Martha reminded, "Always there for one another – I'd say you've been married quite a while, and your baby would be in absolutely the best hands."

Releasing a long sigh, and watching Martha stare at her with an amused smirk, Clara lifted her hands and then dropped them on the arms of her chair softly, telling her, "You're absolutely right," and she pushed her lips together to add, "And he would, _wouldn't_ he."

"What?" Martha questioned.

"Pick us both up, run manically down a corridor," Clara replied, nose wrinkling slightly in feigned annoyance before the two laughed together again. "He'd be a good dad, I know he would be."

"And you're still going to be a great mum," Martha assured with a quick nod.

Clara picked up her mug and took a long sip, turning to stare out the window at the cars and patrons and she shifted back to look at Martha as the other woman finished her sandwich and lifted her phone to smile at a message she'd received from Mickey. Lunch talk swung back to house repairs and how neither Mickey, nor the Doctor, understood how proper plumbing worked, with both women questioning whether the repairs would cost less if they'd hired plumbers.

When she arrived home, she found the Doctor shouting angrily upstairs and she moved up the steps as quickly as she could, stumbling and landing against the doorframe as he finished, "…And that's _final_!" with a finger thrust into the face of a slender greenish being who looked a lot like a mossy tree, standing just outside of the Tardis.

"Doctor?" Clara asked, watching both the man in front of her and the alien at his side turn to slowly look at her where she stood.

Hands coming together to clap, the Doctor turned on his heel to look at Clara, giving her a wide anxious smile before he tilted his head to his right to offer, "Bit of a mix up on a little trip to the forests of Haulen – he thinks I've _adopted_ him and wants to plant himself in our yard."

"If he plants himself in our yard, will anything bad happen?" Clara asked, eyes narrowing slightly as she side-eyed him.

Shrugging, the Doctor stuttered, "Technically, no, once he implants, he'd be nothing more than a lively tree who occasionally sighs in frustration if he hears a bad joke or shakes when amused."

With a nod, and then a small smile at the ridiculousness of it all, Clara pointed back behind her, "Try to find yourself a plot in the back and don't uproot the fence." The Doctor's mouth dropped open and she offered, "You should supervise, as you're his father now."

Clara swung back away from the door and the Doctor's shoulders slumped in defeat as the tree began a shuffled walk towards her, the cracks in his surface shifting up into what Clara believed was a smile before he sluggishly made his way down the stairs. She stopped the Doctor and tugged him down for a kiss, slipping away as he lazily grinned back at her. "Hello, Clara," he sighed.

She smiled, head tilting to tell him, "You make sure he's safely tucked into our garden and then maybe you could plant _yourself _in mine."

His eyebrows rose slowly, understanding dawning on him, and she laughed when he leapt after the tree now reaching the bottom of the stairs. Clara listened to the Doctor as he mumbled, "Oh, hurry up, I've got to find a shovel!" and she went to drop herself into bed.


	34. Chapter 34

His fingertips were slowly drifting over the bare skin of her left shoulder as she kissed his chest lightly, head rising to look into his eyes as they stared down at her. The house stood silent around them in sharp contrast to the gasps and moans of only moments before, and she grinned shyly at that fact as her cheeks went red. With a soft chuckle, he nodded and told her gently, "Should we dress, go out for dinner?"

"Where were you thinking?" Clara asked, inching up to rest her head against his shoulder while he turned his smile up to the ceiling.

Clara imagined sometimes that his mind worked like a rolodex, constantly shuffling through places and dates and sometimes pages flipped free, landing haphazardly in piles he could pick at randomly. Those would be his favorite places, ones not catalogued quite right that surprised him when he least expected to find their names scribbled on thoughts and every small uptick of his lips meant one of those. And now he simply had to decide where to take her.

"What about a moon?" She suggested playfully.

Body giving a few small jumps against the mattress as he turned onto his side with a smirk, he shook his head, then laid it on his pillow as she adjusted to hers. "How about a Space Cruise? Sailing through the universe on borrowed credits, listening to future opera and watching anti-grav acrobatics. Could do some parasailing over star dust or zip line between asteroids." He lifted her hand to intertwine their fingers, "Could procure us a Honeymoon package with a flick of the psychic paper."

Clara laughed softly and she inched forward, forcing her left knee between his thighs and watching his calm expression shift slightly in shock before he grinned and curled his right leg around her, pulling them closer together as she asked straightforward, "Doctor, is there a planet that could fix me?"

His smile disappeared as he considered the question and swallowed hard before answering, "Yes, there are several, but the 'successful' ones rely on cyborg parts – something I'm not comfortable with you trying, for _obvious_ reasons – and there are a few that tamper with genetic modification." He shook his head, "Aside from being terribly painful and not altogether stable, it could have serious side effects or other hidden nefarious purposes."

His face shifted again, some terrible thought hidden away from her, and she sighed. "Is it the cynicism of having to save the universe from universally made atrocities that keeps you from seeing that any of these methods could help me and not try to take over my body or kill me?" Clara teased, but his frown remained.

For a moment he was silent and she realized without him having to tell her – he hadn't just looked into them; he'd thoroughly investigated them. He'd spent time on planets and in times just trying to find a way to make her feel whole and he'd come away with this scowl of reproach towards it all. With a huff, Clara looked to the quick pulse at his neck as he muttered, "I'm sorry. If there were something out there that I thought were safe I would – you know I would; I would have taken you already."

She shook her head and smiled up at him, "No, I imagined you would have. I just finally know where you were off too, all those times I had therapy at dad's – you were out there, weren't you, trying to find a way."

"I haven't exhausted all searches," he told her hopefully, hand coming up to bury in her hair. "I hadn't wanted to tell you until I knew definitively, but you could come with me now. We could research it all together; maybe you'd see something with your beautiful optimism that my cynicism has overlooked."

Laughing, Clara accused, "You go while I'm at work, don't you."

He shrugged sheepishly, "Yes," then he frowned, "Are you mad?"

"That you've been trying to find a way to erase this to surprise me with good news?" Clara questioned, landing the stump of her right leg against his left thigh and watching him grin, "I'm not mad, Doctor."

Grinning, he threw the sheets back, shooting up in bed and swooping his arms underneath her knees and behind her back and giving a hop, landing with his legs crossed and her in his lap and Clara ducked her forehead into his shoulder, laughing at his excitement. She lifted her head and found his gaze again, inching forward to kiss him lightly and then again as she wrapped her arms around his neck before she rested her head against his, releasing a small shaky breath because the moment had reminded her of another kiss.

One she couldn't recall just moments ago.

Clara exhaled a tearful laugh and when the Doctor pulled her face up, holding her cheeks in his palms to swipe his thumbs over the wet streaks and stare into her in confusion, she uttered, "I remember your proposal in that cave; I remember all of the planning and the Cybermen who almost ruined it. I remember being shot and you being so angry and I remember detonating that bomb to send them all back into that wormhole they'd come from," Clara inhaled and breathed, "Doctor, _I remember our wedding_."

He laughed with her, telling her quietly, "All the men in their Tardis blue bowties."

"All the girls in cranberry red dresses," she finished with a smile.

"The most confused wedding planner in the universe," he supplied.

Clara smirked and nodded, "Said it was an odd choice, matching such bold colors together."

"Angie told her to shove her opinion and make it happen," the Doctor reminded on a nod as Clara burst into laughter because she remembered the look on the girl's face as she'd stood sullenly at her side, staring at an older woman who stuttered before plucking her pen free from a planner to jot down notes.

"And the morning of, that wormhole appeared in the sky and we both knew…" She shook her head, remembering the phone call she'd made to the Tardis to question the swirling darkness above London.

He shrugged, "Well, with us, did you really think it'd have been a normal ceremony anyways?"

Smiling, Clara replied, "No, but I imagined they'd ruin our honeymoon – not try to sabotage the wedding."

"In fairness, it wasn't deliberate on their part – making a mess of our plans," the Doctor pointed, then he reminded, "And the chapel was _still intact_!" Before adding, "Well, most of it."

"Half the guests were people we'd just saved," Clara chuckled.

He grinned up at her, watching the way her eyes glazed over as she looked off to the side, some memory of the day now floating through her mind as he sighed, "You fought in your wedding dress, ended up torn and burnt, but you came out limping, holding your dad's arm for support. Walked straight down the aisle with all the poise and confidence no one else in your position could have held onto."

Clara focused back on him and she ran her fingers lightly through the flop of his hair, smiling when it dropped back down and she whispered, "Because the chapel didn't matter and my friends and family were alive and that dress," she chuckled, "That _poor_ dress – I suppose it's up in my dad's attic," she waited for his nod and shy grin before finishing, "None of that mattered because I was marrying you."

He shifted, curling his hands just behind her waist, kneading into her flesh with his fingers and sending goose bumps over her skin. "I forgot you lost the leg that took the shot."

"Ah," she realized before wincing, "That really hurt."

"Every step towards that alter hurt you and _you smiled anyways_ and as soon as we said our vows..." he began.

Clara huffed a laugh to finish, "You picked me up and you told me you'd carry me for the rest of my life if it could ease my burden just one bit..." Her head dropped slightly, "You meant it, when you said it at my dad's."

"Of course I meant it, Clara," he sighed.

She studied his face, looking over the softening of his eyes and the lifting of the corners of his lips the longer they watched one another and she sighed. "You idiot," she whispered.

The Doctor chuckled, head dropping slightly, but keeping his eyes trained on her to tell her, "_Your_ idiot."

Arms wrapping around his neck as she dropped her head to his shoulder, Clara kissed the pale skin there as she repeated, "Definitely my idiot," and she closed her eyes as he massaged a hand over the muscles of her back, working his way down until he huffed lightly in amusement as his fingers spread over her hips. "Our honeymoon though," Clara lifted her head to laugh as he dropped his head back, lips parting as his eyes closed to release his own laughter and she watched him as he re-lived those nights through memories he was thrilled to share with her again.

They'd visited a planet that never saw daylight; a planet where they'd spent a week exploring a mountainside village, a mysterious cult of children – or, rather, ancient beings who appeared as children – lingering in shadows to lure wayward visitors into the depths of the forests to devour their souls. The Doctor had been deemed a coveted buffet and Clara could recall easily now how those cloaked small beings had burst into their suite just before a romantic bath and dragged him away in his pants.

"I had to chase you down in my nighty," Clara wheezed.

Nodding, the Doctor supplied, "It was, quite possibly, our most interestingly dressed rescue."

She breathed hotly against his shoulder before lifting up and telling him coyly, "And our grandest celebration afterwards."

His smirk widened as his hands began to move again, this time his right trailing over her thigh to rest his fingertips just above the trimmed crop of hair between her legs, "I take it, Mrs. Smith, that you'd like a repeat performance."

Clara wanted to laugh, but there was a devilish flare to his grin that sent her heart racing as she whispered back, "Which act, Mr. Smith – or shall we re-enact the night in its entirety?"

He shifted, letting her knees land softly onto the bed while he turned her waist away from him and dropped a set of kisses to her right shoulder, "Well," he began, kneeling just behind her and slipping his hands up to cup her breasts as he continued to peck at her skin with his lips, "There was that one," he bent over her, nudging at her from behind so that his swollen member slipped up against the small of her back slowly, "_Particular_," he gave her a light shove and she dropped onto the bed as he nudged her legs apart, "Position," he finished, dropping down on her to tease at her entrance before easing himself into her, pressing himself to her back as she moaned.

Tucking his chin over her shoulder, the Doctor gently began to glide against her, smiling when her backside curved up into him and he slipped one arm underneath her stomach, supporting her as his motions quickened. He breathed roughly into her ear, watching her eyes close and her brow knot as her mouth opened to gasp and then she smiled, turning and opening her dark eyes to see the look of pleasure on his features. Sinking deeply into her to elicit a quick inhale, the Doctor stopped his motions to kiss her and she moved up on her elbows and then lifted herself to her knees with a chuckle against his lips because he'd lost his breath.

Clara dropped her head as his left hand fell just beside hers against the sheets, his thumb and forefinger caressing her pinky and ring finger. The Doctor's lips found her neck again, and the arm that had wrapped itself around her belly searched out her sex to rub knowing circles into her. She cried out and he jerked slightly, then curled his body firmly over her, right hand dropping calmly against hers, his fingers intertwining with hers as she coughed a quick huff, her body shifting with his until he gasped a shuddered breath, his forehead dropping wetly against her skin and Clara grunted with each hard thrust he delivered as he murmured her name, spilling himself into her.

His mouth began a lazy exploration of her shoulder as he continued to urge her on and his right hand trailed up her arm, sending a tingle through her body. Just as his hand clasped over her breast, thumb rubbing over her nipple, she shouted out as her body convulsed around him. He tipped to his left side and the fall onto the bed offered her a wave of dizzying pleasure as he continued to stroke over her lovingly before hugging her to him. Clara leaned into the last few shifts of his pelvis, smiling when his left arm slipped underneath her head to offer as a pillow and she turned to look up at him, watching him sigh and then mirroring it.

Right hand slipping downward, he glanced over her body as his thumb grazed her delicate nub and he laughed when she offered a light note and then he reminded her quietly, "Dinner?"

Clara laughed, nuzzling herself into him, and told him quietly, "Faraswara."

He kissed at her neck and when she turned, he nudged her cheek with his nose on a nod. It was a lazy trip, as their trips there often were, and he surprised her with a tent she had to assemble while he sat in confusion with the instructions. The Doctor and Clara enjoyed the sunset and listened to the melody playing out around them and they made love until she lay curled up next to him, fast asleep as he tucked a set of sheets up over her shoulder with a kiss to her temple. Lying quietly beside her, he released a long sigh and he prepared himself because he knew odds were, her next remembrance – _her last_ – would be coming soon.


	35. Chapter 35

For a few moments, Clara had forgotten her leg wasn't truly hers. She could hear the wind whipping past her ear as she ran swiftly through the tall grass, arms slapping away blades that sliced at her palms and she shouted out loudly, "Doctor!"

He called out to her in shock, from somewhere up ahead, and she inhaled sharply because the two syllables of her name were cut by a roar from behind. A roar that belonged to a lion of a beast they'd woken accidentally as they'd searched out the fields for just the right stone to turn over and find the sliding entrance to an underground healing pool.

It would do wonders for her leg, they'd been promised.

Not grow it back or any other miracle, but it would ease the soreness in her muscles and lighten the scarring on her stump and arm if they could just find it, find the guardians, and appeal to them. Except the Doctor had used his Sonic, trying to discover abnormalities in the density of the land and that had sent a flock of birds soaring, which had roused an animal from its sleep. An animal that seemed a cross between a black bear and a panther that had growled menacingly at the Doctor as Clara watched from several feet away.

"_Clara_…" he'd begun and she understood – get back to the Tardis as fast as she could.

Now she could hear the huffs of its breath and the ground shook with each gallop of its tremendous paws towards her and the Doctor called out again, this time nearer and she could hear in his voice that he was running at her. The Sonic blasted and there was a howl from behind her and Clara gasped just before the monster swiped her legs out from under her, sending her tumbling to the ground with a pained groan.

"No, _Clara_!" The Doctor's voice broke as she rolled onto her back in a daze and then it clamped its teeth into her prosthetic and tugged roughly in either direction. She screamed as it twisted her knee and she kicked out with the other leg, catching it in the eye with her heel and just as it jumped back, the Doctor reached her, arms curling underneath hers to help her back up to begin limping away from it.

He blasted the beast with his Sonic again and Clara listened as it whimpered angrily, but then it began to run at them again and she clung to the Doctor as the prosthetic crumpled under each step, broken in half. And then it swiped at the Doctor, sending them both to the ground with a set of grunts before the Doctor turned and jabbed both of his feet up into its throat. It gasped, swatting at him in frustration before dropping back to cough roughly and Clara watched it, eyes wide, ragged breaths burning her lungs as the Doctor swung her up into his arms and broke into a rapid run towards the Tardis.

They fell inside in a heap and then he leapt away from her, slamming the door and rushing towards the console to begin working the controls as she crawled closer to him, turning when the ship shook with the force of the monster's collision against it. The Doctor jumped over her as she settled herself just underneath the console, dropping onto her back and wincing at the shock of pain in her right knee. And then the time rotor began to brighten and she turned onto her side to grip at her leg and bite back tears as they moved through the vortex and straight into one particular office at UNIT.

The door was opening as soon as they landed and the Doctor fell beside Clara, lifting her to cradle against his chest as Martha stepped inside and gasped, seeing them on the ground. She moved swiftly to them and Clara could see, through narrowed eyes, the look of surprised concern on the other woman's face as she hissed, "What happened?"

"Unexpected company on Srouth; I need to get her knee looked at straight away."

"Doctor, you're bleeding," Martha breathed and Clara turned to see the Doctor shift slightly to look at the blood now soaking along his waistcoat at his ribcage as Martha stood and moved around him, giving a shocked gasp before rushing past them both back out into her office.

"Doctor?" Clara asked, voice shaky as she looked up at his face, going pale before her eyes.

He laughed anxiously and whispered, "Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch."

"_That's not even funny_," Clara replied as her lips turned down and trembled.

"I forgot," he sighed, "You'd understand the significance."

Clara pulled herself up and growled, "Any idiot would understand the significance," and she dragged herself around him as he fell against the console with a pained groan. "Doctor," she cried, seeing the tears through his clothes, four puncture wounds in his right side that dragged out lightly against his skin. She shoved him forward just as Martha re-entered the Tardis and Clara ripped the cardigan off her shoulders, pressing it into him, murmuring, "No, no, no, _this is not happening_. Not now," she moaned, "_Not like this_."

"Clara," Martha urged, "We've got to move him, get him to our surgical bay."

She raised her eyes to see the woman approaching with several men and a set of wooden flat board stretchers and she understood, they were both injured and needed to be tended to, but she shook her head, "No, you take me with him; I go where he goes."

Martha shook her head, "Clara, _have you seen_ your prosthetic? That attack could have popped your knee out of its socket; you need to be looked at by someone…"

"_I go where he goes_," she bellowed. "You can have someone examine me alongside him."

Nodding slowly, Martha looked to the men and commanded, "You heard her; she goes with her husband."

They laid a board at her side and Martha touched her arm, giving her a nod so she would let go of her cardigan because they had to move her to get to the Doctor. With a low wail, she relented and shifted away, letting them lift her as Martha quickly jumped to the Doctor's side, helping slide him on his stomach onto the second stretcher where she held Clara's cardigan against the wounds as they moved out of the Tardis.

Clara looked to the blue box as they existed and she snapped her fingers weakly, watching her doors shut behind them and lock and she turned back to see the Doctor's eyes as they found hers, a small smile on his thin pale lips before his eyes slowly closed. "Doctor?" She called.

"Clara, he's just unconscious, _it's alright_, but we have to get him into surgery – we don't know much about his biology, he could have punctured a lung, or severed an artery," Martha told her, nodding her head forward and the men broke into a swift run and Clara looked to the ones holding her.

They sped up their walk and they moved through the swinging doors several paces behind Martha and the Doctor, settling her onto a bed that had just been wheeled in beside the Doctor's. She watched, breath held, as they cut away at his clothes and she winced when she saw the open wounds; looked to Martha to see the woman setting herself to the task of studying them and then immediately working into them with cotton swabs and equipment.

And then someone turned her prosthetic and she screamed. There came an apology from an older man just before he warned, "This is going to hurt quite a bit, Clara," and he began to remove the prosthetic as she fell back against the bed, hands reaching out to grip the edges.

"Clara, we're stopping the bleeding," Martha called out to her, "Looks like it missed his lungs, vital organs – the cuts aren't as deep as they seem." She breathed a small sigh of relief, but then Clara was shaking her head and she looked up to the other woman.

"You have nothing to transfuse him," Clara managed to hiss as they unrolled the sleeve from her stump and then began to palpate her knee as she clenched her jaw against the pain. "His blood," she grunted.

The room went quiet and she took several long breaths, opening her eyes just as Martha replied, "No, we don't, but he's stabilized and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but you're going to have to go for an x-ray."

"No," Clara shouted, but hands were restraining her as the bed began to wheel away. She struggled, but each movement of her right knee sent a jolt of dizzying pain through her body. They threw a thick protective cover heavily over her and Clara gripped it tightly, feeling her body shaking in spite of it because stabilization didn't necessarily mean he would pull through and Clara needed him to.

"You're going to have to try to hold still," she heard someone tell her gently and she nodded automatically, trying to steady her breathing as they shifted an x-ray device over her knee and slipped a film underneath it and a moment later there was a pop and a wheeze as it took the photo.

Clara was shifted onto her side and they took a second x-ray and she felt herself going numb, thinking about the Doctor and how she should be at his side, the way he had been for her. If he woke and she wasn't there, he would worry and Clara cried quietly as they removed the heavy coat, leaving her shivering freely as they wheeled her into another room and shifted her into a slot by a window and left her.

She was asleep when Martha entered several hours later and the woman moved around her slowly, lifting a hand to touch her shoulder delicately and watch her dark eyes pop open to stare sadly at her, a simple question obvious in her eyes. With a small nod, Martha offered, "He's alright, Clara."

Head bopping slightly, Clara dissolved into a mess of tears and she turned onto her back with a wince and a yell because her knee was on fire and she watched Martha dig into a drawer at her side, injecting her thigh with a needle and smoothing back her hair. "They took x-rays," Clara whispered.

"Whatever it was that attacked you, did a number on your knee, but nothing a few days rest won't heal."

Clara was nodding slowly, listening as Martha detailed the muscles she'd pulled, the bruising she'd experience, and the fact that she'd have to go without walking for at least a week. The other woman promised her a new prosthetic in that time, she promised her two so she'd have a backup, and then she left the room to get her something to eat because Clara had gone white as a sheet. When she returned, she helped Clara sit up, frowning when Clara immediately tilted into her, sniffling lightly, and for a few minutes the two remained silent in each other's arms because Martha knew Clara needed someone to keep the world from spinning.

"He's going to be fine, Clara," Martha assured, smoothing her hair down and giving her back a rub.

"They took x-rays," Clara repeated quietly and Martha understood two things: the first was that her friend was in a state of shock and the second was that she and the Doctor had been trying to have a baby. Clara was concerned, Martha knew, because they'd taken x-rays without asking her if there was the possibility she'd been with child and she frowned because she'd considered it herself, after the fact.

She slipped back and twisted Clara's right arm slightly, showing her the bandage in the crook of her arm where she'd drawn a small vile of blood and she told her quietly, "You're not pregnant."

Clara's lips shifted up slightly as she offered her a nod of appreciation for the affirmation, but then they dropped down, crumpling with her resolve as she said, "He could have died."

"He's alright," Martha assured.

"Can I see him?" Clara squeaked.

Martha glanced to her side and then gestured at Clara to lay back and she tugged the bed, giving it a shove towards the door where she slapped a large button to open it. She wheeled Clara through the hallway and to a room three doors down, opening it with a swipe of her identification badge and when they slipped through, Clara laughed lightly, seeing the Doctor lying on a bed, bandages wrapped around his bare torso, a monitor measuring his heartbeats as he slept.

"We don't quite understand his biology, so we were afraid to offer him much of anything." Martha bowed her head and pushed Clara's bed against his, watching the other woman immediately reach over to take his hand. "When he wakes, I can give him hell about needing a proper procedure with respects to Gallifreyan injuries and how to handle them."

Clara laughed softly and looked to Martha, whispering, "Thank you," before she shifted herself onto the Doctor's bed with a grimace as she settled her right knee against her left and melted into the Doctor's side, hand lying just at his chest, cheek pressed into his shoulder. She kissed the skin there and listened as Martha walked back out into the hall. With a smile, she nuzzled him delicately and sighed, "My turn to watch over you, Doctor."


	36. Chapter 36

Of course Clara's father had been livid, and as they sat together on the couch, both wearing exhausted frowns, the man paced in front of them. He shouted at them about carrying weapons and he shouted at them about being more cautious. Dave shouted that maybe they should have scanned the planet from the Tardis, and maybe they should have offered a warning shot _before_ heading out. He pointed and accused the Doctor of being reckless and then he turned his finger and accused Clara of the same and by the time he was silent, just pacing, they were both smirking at one another.

"You both think this is _amusing_, do you?" Dave huffed.

Clara pushed her fingers in between the Doctor's on her lap and she tilted to land her head into his shoulder before offering, "It's not amusing."

Dave stopped, lips pressed tightly together, hands gripping his hips, and he turned his eyes to the ceiling before bellowing, "You could have died!"

"You could have died driving your car over to berate us for the better half of the last hour," the Doctor pointed out lightly, still weakened by his injuries. "You could die driving yourself home, or have given yourself an aneurism with the rigorousness of your anger."

Beside him, Clara shook her head as a warning, but she was smiling as she sighed and offered, "Dad, I'm sorry – we were reckless in not being better prepared."

"And you want to _take a baby_ into this life," the man muttered at them before shaking his head and telling them both honestly, "I don't approve of that; don't approve at all."

The Doctor opened his mouth to protest, but Clara's fingers squeezed at his and he turned to look at her, watching the small shift of her head, the second warning to keep a tight lip and nod and he frowned. Because he knew time travel better than Dave could – he knew how unpredictable it could be – and he bowed his head in silent resentment, but also with embarrassment. The Doctor knew better than anyone how dangerous it was and he understood Dave's anger and Clara's acknowledgement of that.

"I'm sorry, Dave," he told the man quietly, honestly, and the Doctor lifted his eyes to see Dave's shifting to meet his, to see the sincerity there before Dave dropped into the single recliner next to them. "You're right – I ought to better vet a planet before landing with Clara. I can set the Tardis to scan for hostile life forms in the vicinity; add preliminary scans to the Sonic; warning protocols."

Dave eyed him a moment, watching him lower his chin to his chest before sighing, "But you can't predict everything that happens when you travel, can you – no more than you can predict traffic patterns or erratic drivers."

Clara turned quickly to him, and she looked between the men before barking, "Are we still on about who's to blame for my accident?"

They both raised their eyes to her guiltily.

Shifting away from the Doctor, Clara told them both firmly, "_I'm to blame_." She shook her head and laughed, "I'm the idiot who thought I could put off buying a car one more month and I'm the idiot who didn't want to take the tube."

Clara released a sigh of frustration during which the Doctor felt his chest freeze because he'd never told her they'd intended to buy a car. He watched her shake her head, readying himself because he thought maybe her memories would come flooding back in that moment, but she simply let out another forceful breath and looked between them.

And then she spat, "Stop snipping at one another about it because neither of you could have prevented it and neither of you is to blame."

"Clara," they both began, but she raised two fingers, silencing them both before biting her lip and looking between them, watching the shocked sadness in their eyes.

"No," she uttered, "_No more_." She lifted up and fell into the wheelchair beside the couch and she made her way down the hall and into the den in the back. Clara stopped with a loud bang of her front wheels to the wall just underneath a large window that looked out into the yard and she held her breath, but despite her best efforts, she began to cry.

A tree in the far back corner offered a small wave of one of its branch and Clara managed a pained laugh, lifting a hand to wave back before it shook and settled and she didn't turn when she felt the strong fingers that fell lightly atop her shoulders. She imagined she'd find her father's eyes staring down at her with an apology, but then she felt the familiar kiss to the top of her head and the small whine of discomfort that made her turn quickly to look up at the Doctor as he grinned sheepishly down at her.

"You aren't supposed to be _up_," Clara argued.

"You aren't supposed to _storm off_," the Doctor retorted.

She nodded, slowly, and offered, "I'm sorry, you just couldn't understand…"

"How guilty you feel about it all?" The Doctor interrupted before his hands began a gentle massage at her shoulders, and he continued, "How you blame _yourself_ for her death? I couldn't understand?" He shook his head and she knew – he _could_ understand it in a way she _never_ could: the Doctor felt responsible for every life he failed to save and for several hundred years he'd been weighed down with the belief that he'd sacrificed millions on his home planet… _innocent children_. With a shake of his head, he told her gently, "Don't carry that, Clara – I'm at fault as much as you are because I could easily have disabled the bike with a flick of the Sonic when your back was turned." He laughed darkly, haunted by his memories, and he admitted, "I never thought to, so if you're to blame for not considering the dangers, I'm equally culpable."

Clara's lips tugged up slightly as she went back to looking through the window to tell him, "Sometimes I think maybe this happened because we weren't ready to be parents. Maybe we still aren't and the universe isn't _cruel_ – she's _calculated_. Dad is right, we're reckless."

"It's not the universe, and your dad is wrong," he huffed, continuing softly, "I'm reckless and you're merely trusting that I'm making the right decisions for you."

"You're not my father," Clara told him firmly with a small grin, "I make decisions for myself."

"_Then stop being so reckless_," he teased.

Clara gripped the wheels at her side and she turned herself slowly to look up at him, head tilting when she saw the way his jaw was clenched against the pain of straightening and she nodded to the hall where her father stood, a distant look in his eyes. "Go on," she told the Doctor, "Go upstairs and lay down – I'll be up soon enough to change your bandages."

He eyed her a moment, hand reaching out with a wince to stroke her cheek, and then he nodded and moved past Dave, making his way towards the steps slowly because each step up was a sting to the puncture wounds at his back. Clara shifted her attention to her father who came to lean into the entranceway, still staring down at the ground in contemplation. She knew he was mulling over her words, having never considered that she'd feel it was her own fault her child had died and she sighed.

"You should have told me you were feeling that way," he offered lightly, "Did you tell your therapist?"

Clara frowned at the word, and then her cheeks went red as she admitted "No, I haven't."

"Why not, Clara?" He demanded, "That's the purpose of the visits."

"I know what the purpose of those visits is," Clara huffed. She looked away, fingers picking at one another in her lap before asking, voice trembling, "How do you tell someone you feel as though you've murdered your child through your own negligence?"

He shook his head, stepping into the room to kneel in front of her and take her hands, squeezing them as he watched her blink a set of tears free to utter, "Just like you told me; just like you told him."

She nodded slowly, smiling when he released her fingers to wipe at her cheeks and Clara listened as he sighed, standing to kiss her forehead before letting his thumb trail over the scar at her temple. "Will you be by tomorrow? Check in on us?" Clara asked weakly.

With a nod and a quiet laugh, he whispered, "Of course, sweetheart." Then he tilted down to try and catch her eye to ask, "Will you be alright; do you want me to stay a little longer, maybe scream at you both some more?"

They laughed together and she shook her head, lips forming a silent, "No."

"Well then," he said quickly, gesturing at her, "Help you up the stairs and I'm off to my own adventures."

Clara grabbed her wheels and looked up at him curiously, "_Your own_ adventures."

"The _dreaded _crossword," he told her menacingly and he shifted out of the way as she rolled forward, following her to the steps where he watched her park the wheelchair as he picked up her crutch. Dave smiled when Clara stood and settled it underneath her arm and he offered a tight hug and a rub to her back, whispering to her, "You didn't kill her, Clara; it was an accident, plain and simple."

She felt her eyes water as she nodded and murmured, "Then stop giving him hell for it."

Dave offered a pitiful laugh and shifted back, a soundless 'ok' slipping from his lips before he released her and gestured to the stairs, remaining until she was halfway up before he turned and left, locking up behind himself. Clara finished her walk up and then into their bedroom, finding the Doctor lying on his stomach on the left side of the bed, shirt already stripped from his body, face shoved into a pillow. She laughed lightly and watched him sigh. Picking up a kit from atop their dresser, she made her way to him, sitting beside him and carefully plucking away the bandages to look at the healing wounds.

"Your skin's gone back to its old pasty white," Clara teased him as she trailed her fingers lightly over his flesh and watched as the goose bumps rose over his back as he laughed. "They're fairly scabbed over; do you want to let them breathe a bit?"

Shifting his head, he opened his eyes to look up at her with a smile and then he reached out a hand for hers, nodding and telling her quietly, "Lay with me a while."

With a nod, she set the kit on the floor and curled up on the bed next to him, her right hand holding to his as he watched her, a small smile on his face and after a moment, she asked lightly, "What?"

"You," he answered simply.

Clara smiled, bowing her head against the pillow before stating, "Me."

He sighed, "You and me and secrets; haven't we figured out yet that we're no good at them." Reaching out for her cheek, he rested his hand there a moment before letting his fingers slip over her jaw, dropping to the bed to search out her hand again. "Why didn't you tell me you felt you were to blame for her death? I would have comforted you with the truth: you weren't. Not _entirely_." The Doctor shook his head, "So you took your motorbike; it could have been a car and she would still have crashed into you."

"But I might have had a dented car," Clara whispered. "Not a dented head."

They laughed lightly and he shook his head, "You're father was right about one thing – you can't predict what will occur. Not in the universe and not on Earth. There are too many variables in play, too many moving targets, too many trajectories to follow and you do the best you can and sometimes, Clara, sometimes terrible things happen you can't avoid. Terrible things you can't prevent, or stop, or change, and you have to be bigger than those moments because what you can control is how you respond to them."

She nodded slowly, watching the way his eyes drifted to stare at the sheets just beside her and she stated calmly, "You tried to change it, didn't you." Clara watched him exhale and then he met her eyes, nodding as they reddened, "You saw it happen and because you did, it became a fixed point."

"Maybe it was a fixed point all along, and that's why I couldn't reach you in time," he surmised sadly. "Our daughter's death was an unavoidable and blameless event and I responded to it terribly because I was caught between two tragedies, not entirely sure which I should face first and because of that you were in a limbo you didn't deserve and you're still hanging there, a very thin thread – a random burst of memories – from being cut free."

"Yes, Doctor, but it's like you said – we're in control of how we respond and I know how you will. You'll be there to catch me," Clara assured, "We can control _that_, Doctor – you will be there to catch me."


	37. Chapter 37

They made their way back to the Tardis casually, hand in hand, as a blazing purple sun set behind them on a horizon of ragged cerulean mountains glowing with newly fallen snow. The Doctor had made good on his word to Dave – he made sure before heading out that the Tardis scanned the landscape; that he had all the details of the planets they were landing on; that his Sonic was prepared and ready for quick surveys – everything they could control about their trips was. Settling his palms to the console, he turned to smile as Clara closed the Tardis doors and then shifted to grin up at him.

"One of these days," she sighed, "You're going to land on a planet that doesn't think you're a god."

He smirked, "But it does wonders for my confidence."

"As though your confidence were capable of waning."

Raising a finger and swinging a lever with his other hand, he pursed his lips and argued, "I'll have you know my confidence levels were quite low this morning."

She giggled because she knew it was over the fact that she'd easily dominated him in the bedroom that night and he couldn't reconcile her newfound strength against the fact that he was the man – shouldn't _he_ pin _her_? Clara worked her way onto the console platform and she watched him smirk down deviously at the controls as he maneuvered them, lifting them into the vortex. Once safely floating, he turned and leaned his hip into the metal at his side and he raised a hand to her, one she took casually, and she laughed as he pulled her closer, straightening and taking her other hand to lift to his shoulder before he planted his at her waist.

The Doctor began to move with her, a slow dance as they grinned at one another happily and Clara glanced up and told him quietly, "Doctor, there's no music."

"Isn't there?" He questioned, frowning and wrinkling his nose as he followed her gaze, "I do believe I hear a gentle beat from our hearts, a soft melody from our breath…"

She laughed, blushing to tell him, "You and your romantic notions of the mundane."

"Is the mundane not romantic?" He posited, dropping his eyes to meet hers with a satisfied grin, "You and me – _the Doctor and Clara_ – having a quiet dance in the Tardis as we drift through space." With a sigh he added, "Would you rather be anywhere else, Clara? Because I can think of no other place I'd rather be."

He dipped his head to kiss her and Clara inhaled sharply at the tingle it had sent through her body and she knew he was right. If they could dance away their lives in that spot, she'd chose no other life. His hand snaked around her and the Tardis lights dimmed as she laughed into his kiss and asked quietly, "You're not going to wrestle the control away from me just because we're in your Tardis."

Smirking as he slipped back, he slowly arched a delicate eyebrow and nodded his head towards the corridors as a challenge, telling her quietly, "Either way, would be a fun match."

Clara shook her head and gave his shoulder a small squeeze, "I have laundry to get done and a job to rest up for."

"Time machine," he reminded on a whine.

There was a playful twinkle in his eye as their movements came to a stop and Clara's hand roamed over his arm and then off it as she began to walk towards the corridors, making her way towards their bedroom. He was chuckling behind her and she could feel her heartbeat skip as she glanced back to see the calm expression on his face just before they moved through the door and dropped back with a shared laugh onto the bed. He looped an arm around her back and pulled her further onto the bed with him, knees dropping down to pin at either side of her thighs and Clara shook her head at him.

"Unfair advantage, I would say," she teased.

"How is this unfair," he coughed, gesturing down at her hands as they lay gently around his hips.

Clara edged up, fingers drifting along the rim of his trousers as she kissed him, undoing the buttons and working the zipper down slowly over him and she smiled into his lips, whispering, "You know, in some ways you're no different from a human man."

"That I desire you so readily, Clara?" He breathed against her, kissing his way to her neck as his knuckles pressed into the bed, lowering her back down and grinning when he felt her undoing the buttons of her blouse to tug it apart so he could shift down to kiss at the flesh of her breasts as he rubbed himself over her sex, eliciting a set of exasperated moans.

He lifted her up to sit at the edge of the bed as he stripped himself slowly, watching her carefully do the same, occasionally smirking up at one another before he worked off her prosthetic and they collapsed back into the bed, a mess of tangled warm limbs. The Doctor turned, stretching out at her side and placed one hand underneath her right knee to shift it aside as he dropped his mouth to her, kissing her knowingly as she shouted out just next to his stomach. She turned into him, lifting her left leg to hook over his neck, knee rubbing at his shoulder and he smiled into her, tongue lazily lapping at her until he felt her mouth close over him, stealing his breath.

The Doctor exhaled, glancing down at her, left hand fanning out at his abdomen, lips slipping over his length and his eyes closed when her tongue circled him just before she swallowed him again. He rested his forehead to her thigh, feeling the sweat building on their skin and then he slid a hand along her stomach, fingers coming down to part her folds so he could devour her again – this time without any of the daintiness he'd intended, but with a hunger to match hers.

She whined, left hand taking hold of him to stoke at him as she dropped her cheek to the sheets while he tasted at her avidly, pointedly, and when the fingers of his right hand curled around her backside to dip into her, she called his name and laughed when he raised his head. Clara rolled her left leg away and she sighed as he smiled back at her devilishly, thumb still drifting over her in feather light passes that sent jolts through her.

"Ok," she whispered, lifting up and crawling to lie out in front of him, inching herself closer to him so she could wrap her right thigh over his hip as he grinned down at her and reached to guide himself into her with a small sigh as his eyes fluttered. "We both win this round; how about that?"

He laughed, left arm circling her to hold her as he began to thrust into her, taking pleasure in the way her breathing quickened and her mouth opened slightly so she could release small breaths against his chin. The Doctor kissed her forehead, then her nose, and then her lips, slowing his movements enough for her to meet his gaze and he told her quietly, "Isn't that always the case?"

Clara smiled, bucking her hips lightly into him and gasping happily when he began to meet the sway of her body into his with his own curved pumps and she laid her cheek to his chest, hand holding to his side as they continued their dance until the stars in the sky sparkled behind closed eyelids and they clung to one another. She felt as though she might never let him go, listening to his heartbeats drumming ecstatically against her ear and palm and she kissed at his skin, tasting the saltiness of his sweat before shifting to look up at him.

"I still have laundry," she breathed.

"Still a time machine," he responded lightly, fingers combing through her hair as he edged up onto his elbow to smile down at her.

Clara laughed when he shifted forward, pinning her to the bed and burring himself deeply inside of her as he kissed her, and when he finally raised his head again, it was to look her over lovingly as she told him simply, "Laundry."

His forehead dropped to hers and then he crawled back slowly, kissing his way over her breasts and her stomach and finally her sex as she chuckled, eyes closing against the new pulses of pleasure he was stirring with the gentle swirls of his tongue against her delicate core. Enough that she forgot about the clothes that needed to be washed and she settled her legs onto his shoulders, raising her hands to grip the sheets above her head as she curled her body into each quick dart of his tongue around her, working to set her ablaze again.

Fingers slipping over her sides, he took each of her breasts in his palms, massaging them in tandem with the motions of his mouth. The Doctor closed his lips slowly over her and then nudged her with his chin, listening to her moan out and he chuckled, hearing her do the same, knowing in the back of her mind she wanted to be frustrated with him for distracting her, but knowing it was all forgotten as she tensed, legs rising so her left foot curled just behind his head and her stump rested at his shoulder.

"Doctor!" She hissed as her face contorted, and then it eased, mouth dropping open as her eyebrows rose and he hummed into her as she gave into her release, squeaking slightly and then huffing as he continued on until her palms rested atop the backs of his hands at her chest and her legs laid calmly on his back again. "_You win_," she allowed. "This time," she laughed, "You win."

He lifted his head and his hands slid off her as he crawled back over her to settle himself atop her lightly and he sighed, "So, you were saying something about laundry."

Clara laughed and gave him a small shove, rolling away when he flipped onto his back beside her. He watched as she inched her way towards the edge of the bed on her stomach to reach for her knickers and her prosthetic and he watched her pull both on before she made her way to him to kiss him lightly. The Doctor remained, stretched out in bed a moment as she stood, securing her leg before she began to scoop up her bra, blouse, and shorts.

"You should get us back home, Doctor," she told him as she worked the buttons over her chest and he caught the smile she offered him as he laid, one hand settled atop the start of a new erection, just before she teased, "I promise to reciprocate once I've got the first load in."

He coughed a laugh, head falling back slightly before he nodded and moved to the edge of the bed to find his own trousers, pulling them on carefully and buttoning his own shirt as he pushed his feet into his boots, bending to lace them while Clara worked her shorts over her legs. The Doctor made his way towards the console, hands pushing the edges of his shirt into his trouser and his hand laid flat against the collar at his throat, frowning because he'd left his bowtie somewhere on that floor and he smirked as he sent the Tardis back into the vortex.

They landed just inside of one of the bedrooms – the bedroom Clara designated as his 'man cave', a concept he was quite satisfied with once she'd explained it – and he turned when he heard her slow steps coming through the entranceway from the corridors. He looked to the strip of purple fabric she was winding and unwinding haphazardly around her fingers and then up at the smile plastered on her reddened face and he shifted, ready to meet her halfway when her lips began to drop and she lost her color in the blink of an eye.

Clara's steps faltered and her breathing quickened and for a moment he frowned in confusion. He turned for a swift examination of the console room, but nothing was amiss and when he turned back, he felt the blood draining from his extremities, replaced with a cold splash of terror as she lifted the bowtie, now hanging limply from her tightened grip, against her stomach and she uttered quietly, "_No_," and the Doctor understood.

She _remembered_.


	38. Chapter 38

"_Ava_," she uttered softly as she glanced down at the old purple bowtie still in her palm as she gripped it to her abdomen and he knew what had triggered it. The first night after they knew, he'd insisted she rest after her fainting spell, but she'd been keen on other activities – celebrating her pregnancy with an unexpected romp in the same bedroom they'd just left before they'd gone home. Clara had lain next to him afterwards and she'd taken that very bowtie to drape over her naked stomach as they both caressed at it lovingly and she'd teased him.

"_If it's a boy, he'll be more stylish than you_," Clara had quipped lightly.

"_Bowties_…" the Doctor had begun.

"_Are cool, I know_," she'd laughed.

Now she held it rigidly, with none of the delicate strokes of its fabric from that night almost a year before and he waited, breath held as she stared down at it. And finally she inhaled sharply and said simply, "Oh God, _I lost Ava._" Clara looked up at him, eyes widening as they reddened and flooded with realization and she laughed, once, pitifully, telling him, "Doctor, _her name_, I was going to tell you – it was _Ava_," before Clara dropped with a choked sob that stabbed his hearts and bent his body in pain towards her.

He watched her, shoulders hunched and shaking, one hand laid flat on the ground, the other held against her midsection and he understood – every detail about that little girl she'd been looking forward to was now splashing across her memory in vivid color. Her hand shifted slowly, rubbing at the clothing that sat loose against her skin and he knew she was longing for a bump that was long gone, a life that suddenly felt so real to Clara and could only remain a memory.

Clara could sense him coming closer to her and he called her name as he fell just beside her. His arms were around her instantly and she dissolved into them, burying her head in his shoulder to howl in anguish because it was no longer a story, no longer a set of facts rattled off, or a line read from the back of a photograph. Her daughter was real and she understood why the Doctor and her father had been hesitant to tell her – there hadn't been a point in telling her to avoid the pain. Telling her wouldn't have softened the blow, the emotional punch to the gut as her memories shuffled into place in an assault of heart wrenching thoughts and tactile events.

"_But that… that's not… are you sure_?"

"_The results are indisputable, Mrs. Smith, you're pregnant_."

It had been an alien who told her. A tall slender being with greenish brown wrinkled skin who handed her a printout she looked over as tears rolled onto her cheeks and her hand came up to her mouth before dropping to the flat skin of her stomach. "_And it's fine, nothing wrong_."

"_Both you and baby are just fine – your husband is waiting outside_."

Clara could remember the apprehension she'd approached him with, the way he'd stared at her with worry as she'd taken him to sit to tell him, because Clara had felt as though she were in a daze – how could she have been pregnant; they hadn't properly started trying. And she'd laughed, just before he asked her what was wrong because nothing had been wrong. Everything in that moment had been perfectly right and she had paperwork to prove it. Paperwork that told her she'd begun gestating three weeks earlier; paperwork that explained she had to stop her birth control and had to start a vitamin regiment; paperwork she wouldn't be able to read without the Tardis translation matrix.

"_Nothing's _wrong_, really… I'm pregnant_."

He'd turned his eyes to the ground and she smiled because she'd known what had been going through his mind; Clara knew he had thought the worse – she was sick or dying, and so the prospect of her returning to him with that particular news had confused him. And then she'd worried. What if it were a bad thing; what if the Doctor had turned away because he hadn't wanted it to happen, or he was afraid that it had… and then he'd lifted her out of her chair into a tight hug.

"_A baby_," he'd sighed.

The word from his lips, so happily spoken, had roused a laugh out of her before she'd replied softly while looking over the instant glow in his features, "_A baby_."

And from that moment they'd lived in a bubble of excited anticipation. Clara grabbed hold of the Doctor's shirt because she could recall how they'd returned to their flat, rushing up the steps in a jumble of conversation about how they could stay there for a while and then maybe get a home. Some place for a swing set and a pool come summer and snowmen in winter. He'd wondered whether they should travel as much, but Clara had insisted her child would see those stars; her child would travel like she'd always dreamed and her child would know it's father's world.

Clara felt the Doctor lifting her off the console floor as she remembered how they'd gone into their guest bedroom and she'd declared, "_This is the baby's room. Doctor_," and she'd smiled back at him as he'd hugged her from behind, detailing how she would put a crib just underneath the window and how she would paint the walls from their drab off-white to something brighter.

"_Yellow_," she'd proclaimed with a nod as he'd settled his chin to her shoulder.

"_Yellow_?" the Doctor had repeated on a huff, "_You seriously want to blind the poor child_?"

Clara had given him a playful whack before explaining, "_Not like sunshine, but muted, with a mural – dunno, flowers for a girl; maybe jungle animals for a boy_? _Have to work on that_…"

"_What about blue_," he'd pondered.

Wrinkling her nose, Clara had replied, "_Blue will sour their mood – yellow, it's a happy color for children; I know I've read it somewhere_," and the Doctor had laughed, nuzzling her gently.

"_Yellow it is_," he'd agreed.

She felt herself being laid in a bed and he tried to shift away, but she clung to him and he whispered quietly, "It's alright, Clara, I won't leave you," as he shifted behind her, leaning into the headboard as she laid against him, holding him tightly because her body was trembling. The Doctor wrapped his arms around her and he cried with her, kissing the top of her head and letting her moan into his chest, breaking his hearts.

"_Isn't he an alien_?" Her father had asked and they'd both laughed into one another, turning to see the sour look on her father's face before he muttered, "_Suppose he's got all the right bits then_."

"_Dad_," she'd whined, "_Please be happy… for me_."

She could recall the smirk that grew on her father's frustrated face and the way he'd shaken his head to step forward and hug her tightly, pointing at the Doctor over her shoulder to growl lightheartedly, "_You'd better take care of them_."

And the Doctor had smiled and quietly responded with a laugh, "_Had planned on it, Dave_."

Now she pressed her forehead into his chest as he rubbed at her shoulders and she understood the guilt he felt – why he'd felt responsible – and how that guilt had been eating at him. He'd promised her father time and time again that he would keep her safe and in his mind, he'd failed. Every moment of her recovery had been a reminder of that and, she knew, the worst of his guilt came at that very moment, holding her through her memories.

Clara shook her head against him as she remembered all the mornings she'd woken with horrible nausea and how he'd continually had the Tardis scan her to make sure she was alright. His greatest fear had been losing her before, but it had become losing _them_. Her and the baby she carried past morning sickness and spotting scares into a twelfth week that brought a sudden need for a slightly larger bra and a discomfort within her own clothes. She'd stared at herself in the mirror on a morning she zipped up a skirt that sat just a bit higher than it should have, holding her hand to the smallish outward rounding of her stomach and she'd cried, calling out to him.

"_Clara, Clara are you alright_?" The Doctor had been panicked, rushing up beside her with his Sonic held out and his other hand on her shoulder and she'd merely gestured at her reflection with a laugh.

She waited for him to glance up to tell him happily, "_It's barely noticeable, but there it is_."

With a laugh, the Doctor had asked, "_Should we call it something, perhaps to stop calling it 'it'_?"

Moved behind her, he'd nestling his chin to her shoulder to pocket his Sonic and round his hands over her lower abdomen, chuckling lightly into her ear as she whispered, "_Dunno, like a code name? Or a nick name_?"

"_Podseed_," he'd offered.

Clara had laughed heartily, replying, "_I'm not calling my baby Podseed_."

In her mind, even then, she'd decided if it were a boy, she'd name him Milo and if it were a girl, she'd name her Ava and she'd smiled into her reflection as the Doctor continued to rattle off ridiculous nicknames until she finally whispered, "_My sweetpea_," and the Doctor had repeated the word, thumbs stroking over her belly. Her hand drifted there now and she felt his follow, heard him sobbing with her as she remembered the way her skin had begun to curve outward, just as her father had detailed – just enough to be barely noticeable behind the loosened blouses she let hang over her skirts, _just enough_ for her to smile at randomly throughout the day.

She'd just begun to feel her moving, small flutters and twitches that brightened her face and brought her hands to her swollen belly as she stood on the console floor next to the Doctor, or in their flat as she prepared her notes for class lectures, or during classes, interrupting her thoughts. She'd just told her students and she smiled as she remembered how they'd giggled and squirmed at the news. And she could recall sitting in a bath, hair pulled up into a sloppy bun at the top of her head as she laid her palms over their daughter, nestled safely inside of her as she considered how marvelous her life would be.

"_She could be anything_," the Doctor had told her, kneeling next to the tub and rolling up his sleeve to submerge his hand to meet hers, hand spreading over her. Clara had cried tears of joy at the wonder in his eyes then as his fingers moved in slow swipes atop her stomach because she had no doubt the Doctor would be an amazing father to their little girl and as he met her eye, a smile growing on his face, she'd shifted to kiss him.

"_I love you_."

Hand still caressing her belly, he'd whispered back, "_Ah, _my girls_ – how I love you both_."

Clara's eyes pressed shut because she could hear the blaring honking of cars and she could remember the way she'd smiled and revved her engine, taking the bike down the lane confidently, feeling the small odd roll of movement in her abdomen. She'd just seen a car, a small blue SUV, and she knew it would be perfect for them, knew she had to write down its name as soon as she got to the school so they could start making phone calls about pricing because Clara knew she shouldn't still be riding the bike.

And the car shifted just as she passed it, saw it out of her peripheral and before she could make a single noise of protest, or turn the bike away, she was falling. Her fingers curled around the Doctor's shirt as she relived the shock of hitting the pavement with a loud grunt, of feeling her arm twisting just beside her, even as she tried to pull it back, because Clara tried to shield her daughter. The pain in her leg was how she imagined being set ablaze felt and she tried to scream, but it remained choked in her throat, escaping as a gargled cry, and then the blur of motion stopped in an instant with a snap like lightning to her head.

"No," Clara moaned into the Doctor as he turned her, cradling her against him as she shook her head and fell into another set of sobs and then she released an anguished scream, muted by his chest, before going silent, crying quietly, mind rolling over and over those last moments before she lost consciousness – before she slipped into the coma and had woken to a world that made no sense.

"_Ava, please_," she'd managed to whisper as she heard a woman approaching, screaming in terror and Clara knew what she must have looked like. A mangled mess of shredded clothing and skin. "_Ava_, _please_," she'd pleaded before her voice was lost as hands landed on her shoulder and the weight of the motorbike was lifted away. Clara begged her daughter to be stronger than her fragile body could be and just before her eyes fluttered shut, she felt the last small movements within her and with that small bit of hope, the world had gone completely black.


	39. Chapter 39

The room around them stood silently in a way the Doctor had experienced more often than he'd like to admit – as though the world were on pause, stuck within one frame, refusing to budge to force his attention to the details, to remember the moment forever. The last time his world froze, he'd watched her crash – now it sat in limbo because she'd remembered it and he imagined, from all of her bellows and sobs, the wrinkled masses of his shirt slightly moistened by her tears, that that final moment had rewound and replayed itself over and over in her head.

As though she could find a way to erase it from time.

He'd watched her pass out, even as her body gave an uneven set of shakes with the ragged breaths she had left in her, and now she was lying with her head just underneath his right breast, body curled on its side between his thighs. One hand rested atop his stomach, the other settled limply in the space between his back and the headboard and her mouth sat slightly agape to allow the breathing her stuffed nose wouldn't. The Doctor stroked over her hair as he reached for the phone that sat on the night stand, bringing it slowly to a space in front of him to stare at the photo, blurred through unshed tears, of him and Clara from only the week before.

They'd been so happy then, in Venice on a gondola, full from a meal and exhausted from a day of exploring and her cheeks were pink and glistening with a touch of sweat from the warm night. He smiled for just a second before searching through her contacts for her father's number to dial and he brought it to his ear to listen to the ringing, each shrill set of notes sending a jab of terror through him.

The man picked up and took a small breath before uttering, "Hello, sweetheart."

The Doctor's face crumpled, lips pressing together tightly and he breathed plainly, "Dave…" before his voice left him and he bowed his head with shame. "Dave…" he began again, but there was a quick gasp of understanding on the other end of the line.

"I'll be right over," her father told him sternly, and then the line went dead.

He shifted, lifting Clara as she moped, and he settled her into the bed, yanking the comforter off his side to curl over her body because she was shivering. His hand pressed into her shoulder momentarily and he watched her sleeping, features reddened, but relaxed, and he swiped the long bangs behind her ear. The Doctor knelt at her side as he waited for her father to arrive and he sighed; thumb drifting over her cheek before he curled his fingers around her neck, frowning because she was burning up.

"Clara," he whispered, seeing her eyebrows lift slightly, "Your dad's on his way and I promise you, I _promise_ you neither of us will leave your side so long as you need us to get through this."

He smiled when she took a long breath and then burrowed into the comforter, and the Doctor fell onto his backside, knees up against his chest as he wrapped his arms around them. Of all the things in the universe he wished he could turn back, Clara suffering for this was at the top of his list, and he bowed his head to stare at his knees, waiting for the turn of the lock on the front door and the quick steps of the other man coming up towards them.

"What happened?" Dave asked quietly, moving towards Clara and shifting the comforter back to look at the puffiness around her eyes and hear the unsteady breaths she was taking.

The Doctor leaned his head back and he offered a broken smile to explain, "She was toying with one of my bowties and she remembered when she'd joked, if we'd had a son, he would have better fashion sense." He laughed and his head fell forward as he cried. "He would have," he nodded to look up at her, "She'd have made sure of that if it'd been a boy, and our daughter," he smiled, "She would have found her the most perfect little dresses. She would have…" he began again, his voice caught in his throat as Dave watched him.

Dave moved timidly around him as the Doctor cried into his knees and he knelt just behind him, slowly curling an arm around his shoulders to hug him and tell him quietly, "And she might still buy those dresses one day or you'll still go behind her back and buy that clip on for your son, or your daughter 'cause I know you'll find some hair barrettes or something with those foolish things," they laughed together, "What she needs right now – _what you both need_ – is a bit of hope and I'll be damned if I let either of you give up on that."

"She thought because she knew," he told Dave softly, "Because she knew before hand, had figured it out, and had gotten our stories – collected all of the little details – she thought it would be easier, but Dave," he glanced up at the other man and shook his head, "I watched the life drain out of her eyes and then it drifted out of her body – a sorrow worse than death replacing it and I had always thought I would be capable of healing her. I always thought, I'd seen the worst the universe had to offer – I've seen a mother lose her child before, but this…"

Dave silenced him with a gentle shushing and he closed his eyes to shake his head, telling him honestly, "It's different when it's you, when it's _yours_. Nothing prepares you to lose a child and nothing prepares you to see that loss in your wife's eyes."

Turning slowly, the Doctor watched the man who stared at Clara with a sad acknowledgement as he asked, "Before or after Clara?"

"Before," Dave offered with a huff as he dropped to sit at the Doctor's side, "Early on, early enough that we'd barely known, but Ellie'd come out of the bathroom one morning with my name shaking on her tongue," he crossed his legs and fiddled with his fingers in his lap, "Dunno what it would have been, but I knew Ellie already had plans either way – think that's what they do, when they find out. Start planning out a life," he shrugged with a frail smile.

The Doctor looked to Clara and whispered, "I'm sorry; I didn't know."

"Not something you talk about; not something we have the right to – it's more their loss than ours, isn't it? They hold onto it differently because it was a part of them." He shifted his gaze to the Doctor, "I should have told you before – it's why I wanted Clara to know sooner, rather than later."

"Would it have made a difference?" The Doctor asked him rhetorically as Clara inhaled roughly and then released the breath shakily. Then he asked him, "Did she know?"

"Clara?" Dave questioned, "Ellie told her once I think – when she asked about why she'd never gotten a brother or sister. One of the joys of a shared menstruation, I suppose. I taught her how to kick a soccer ball and punch a boy and amongst a million other things, Ellie taught her how life is made and how quickly it could be taken away… she taught her that lesson one too many times."

Both men looked to the carpet underneath them and the Doctor was the first to look up at Clara because Dave was right – she'd planned a life already, all in her head, for their daughter… but she needed hope and while he was certain Clara would recover, she would need his help – something he couldn't offer if he allowed himself to fall apart with her.

He shifted slightly and then stood, looking down to Dave and then nodding to Clara, "I'm going down to make some tea – milk and sugar?"

Dave smiled and bowed his head in a half-nod before he moved towards the bed, settling himself against it and leaning his elbows to his knees. He turned and raised himself once the Doctor had gone and he rested his hand at her shoulder, bending to kiss her head before whispering, "Your husband's an idiot, Clara." He watched her a moment, the frown set on her lips, and then he added, "Think your mum wouldn't have had it any other way for you because he's just the _perfect idiot for you_."

He sighed and shifted the comforter back to watch her sleep and he brushed her cheek with his knuckle, seeing the shiver it caused and he uttered, "Good thing too, us idiots make pretty good husbands, least I think so. Stubborn and arrogant sometimes, a little slow to come around, but always there. And that's what he is for you, isn't he – bloke who's always gonna be there." He smiled, "I imagine your daughter would have been a handful to take care of. A storm of wondrous notions and uncoordinated limbs."

Dave let his hand slip down to fold against the other on the bed at his chest as he chuckled and then he heard her tell him softly, "She'd have been amazing."

Head rising swiftly, he looked into her eyes, already wet with new tears, and the small sad smirk on her lips and he sighed as her brow came together knowing she was imagining the little girl dancing around the coffee table in the living room, or around the time rotor in the Tardis. "All floppy brown hair with her tiny upturned nose. Ah, she'd have had your eyes, Clara – big man downstairs would never know what hit him when she asked him for things."

She chuckled, blinking a set of tears away as she nodded. "Ava would have had us both wrapped around her tiny fingers, wouldn't she have."

With a laugh, Dave watched Clara as she took a long breath and reached for his hands, smiling when he cupped both of his around hers warmly. "Ava," he repeated, "_Ava_," he breathed, then teased, "Yeah, she'd have been like you that way."

The Doctor entered the room with two mugs and he smiled when Dave shifted back so he could see Clara's red face grinning up at him. "Tea for the Oswald's then," he offered as Dave helped Clara sit up so she could take the Doctor's mug – Yoda's head – to hold in her hands as she bent to inhale before the Doctor gestured back at the door, "Be right back."

He returned and Dave had kicked off his shoes to climb onto the bed, back resting against the foot and he smiled fondly at the duo who were sipping silently at their tea. Walking around, he sat at his side, carefully inching closer to Clara and crossing his legs on the other side of Dave's as he uttered, "Adding a bit of danger to the equation," as he raised his own travel mug, watching both sets of dark eyes widen slightly before he hissed, "_It's got a lid_," and pointed as they laughed.

The Doctor turned to see Clara's smile, taking in the wet trail her tears had travelled over her cheeks and he reached up to dab away a droplet that clung to her chin with his forefinger. Her lips came together tightly to meet his gaze and she nodded slowly and he understood – she was hurting, but the initial shock had worn off. The memories were there, but for the moment they were standing still after their initial assault on her heart. Clara tried to tell him, with one simple nod, that she was ok and eventually, she might even be fine, and he nodded in return to let her know he understood and he would be right there by her side through it all.

"Sweetheart," Dave called, right foot tapping her thigh lightly as he began, "Do you want us to…"

"Stay," she interrupted quickly, looking between the two men before bowing her head, hands gripping tightly to the mug she held to continue, "I know you're both afraid, been afraid since I woke up, that this would break my heart and it has," she raised her head to offer a crooked smile to them both, "I wanted to hold her so badly; I loved her more than I imagined I ever could." Clara laughed, thumb stroking over the green ceramic and she heard the men sniffling against their own tears, tears – she knew – they were holding back on her account and she shook her head at the mug. "Ava was loved and she knew that," she looked to the Doctor, "She would have known that, wouldn't she have, Doctor?"

Clenching his jaw, he dropped his head slightly and told her honestly – for whether or not he believed the child she'd carried maintained a shred of the psychic connections a Gallifreyan child might have towards their mother, the Doctor believed the words with both of his hearts – "Yes, Clara, she did."


	40. Chapter 40

Her father had left just after midnight and the Doctor had seen him out after a set of hugs that left Clara breathless and claustrophobic and when her husband returned, stepping into the room cautiously, she'd smiled weakly at him and sighed. She knew she was on the verge of new tears; knew that's how her days would be for a while in a way they hadn't been in the past few months since she'd worked the secret out for herself. Clara had gone from understanding a tragedy through second-hand tales, to having the residual memory of a human being moving within her that affected the way she ate and dressed and slept and even thought.

Hands shifting slightly over her lower abdomen, she glanced down at herself and croaked, "I don't know why I keep expecting it to be different – you'd think, with all of the time I've spent now without her, that it would just drift away, that idea that she'd still be there."

The Doctor sat on the edge of the bed beside her and he reached out for her hands, massaging at them when she laid them in his palms. "I suppose you never stop longing for a loved one who's been taken prematurely; it's always there in the furthest recesses of your mind."

"Years from now, I'll still be thinking of her?" Clara questioned before shaking her head, "Does it change then? From this pain to something… less torturous?"

He gave a timid nod of his head and looked to her fingers, his thumb rubbing over her wedding band as he told her truthfully, "Yes, and sometimes you'll hate yourself for that." The Doctor raised his eyes to meet hers and he watched new tears roll easily over her pale skin as he elaborated, "It'll become dull; it'll become something less than a memory – but something equally grand." He smiled, "She'll become a story, a ghost of a story because you'll seldom tell the tale, but she'll always be there in some way, just at the edge of consciousness and in that way, I suppose, she'll never truly leave us and somehow… somehow that makes it easier, Clara – _eventually_."

Clara smiled and nodded with him, agreeing, "She never truly _has_ left us, has she."

"Nah," he breathed with a tilt of his head, "We've put her photos back where they belong, her best scan framed and settled just beside our wedding photo on the mantle. And she'll always be alive in our dreams, and in other children we bring into the world."

"If the universe allows," Clara replied softly, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

Shaking his head, the Doctor whispered, "You're not replacing her."

Her face crumpled as she told him, "I thought maybe if I'd done so – maybe if I'd gotten pregnant again before I remembered… that somehow it could be easier; that I wouldn't feel this empty inside."

Moving closer to her, he enveloped her in a hug as she cried against him and he smoothed his fingers over her hair and shushed her gently, telling her, "Clara, I promise you it will get better; that emptiness will fill back in with all of the love you have for her."

He could feel her nodding slowly and she quieted after a moment, pushing up and stating, "I never saw her room." Clara's eyes drifted down to her lap as she said, "Aboard the Tardis, I never saw her room – could we go there now?"

"Clara…" he began, because he didn't know if it was a good idea now. Now, just after she'd retrieved all of her memories fully, and he uttered, "Maybe in a day or two."

But she shook her head and raised it to look at him to demand, "Doctor, I want to see it now – you said you kept it to help me cope and I want to cope," her eyes closed momentarily and then they opened slowly, dropping heavy tears that fell straight off her cheeks onto her shorts, and she gave him a pitiful smile, offering, "Let's go see Ava's room."

He could see the desperation in her eyes and he looked down with a pained laugh before lifting his head to nod and repeat, "Let's go see Ava's room."

They moved carefully off the bed and she tucked herself at his side, hand gripping to the back of his shirt as they went together into the room across the hall where the Tardis brightened momentarily, slinging open her doors and when they stepped inside, Clara laughed. Looking over the console room, at the yellow glow that glimmered out onto the walls from a time rotor that sparkled, the Doctor understood – the Tardis was mentally linked with Clara, had been for so long he'd forgotten, and the old girl could feel her pain and she could sense Clara's memories and her memory of Ava's room had been that yellow bedroom back at their flat.

She nodded, sniffling loudly as they made their way into the corridors and towards the room that had been locked to her the last time she'd approached it. And it'd been the last time she approached it because Clara imagined it would be too painful before she was ready to accept it. Now she wanted to look at what the Doctor had created because she'd never been aware he'd been making a room for her. Looking to the doors, Clara held her breath as they slowly swung open and when they did, she tilted her head into the Doctor's chest, lips trembling at the padded flooring that came in circles of white, lilac, against the same soft shade her bedroom had been painted.

The walls were a light cream with swirling floral patterns in faded pink and mint tones and just underneath a fake window through which Clara could see the twin suns setting on a familiar planet, sat a crib and changing station made of maple wood. The cubicle set she'd picked out sat between a wicker laundry basket and a rocking chair, a lilac and white knit blanket hanging over its back at their left. To their right stood a matching dresser and she approached it slowly, pulling open the first drawer carefully to find the few bits of clothes she'd purchased were tucked away neatly.

Clara lifted a small onesie and closed the drawer, leaning against the dresser to look at the rounded mirror hung on the wall in front of her. She found her reflection, dim and reddened by the sunset to her left, but she could see the puffiness around her eyes and the frown set on her lips. Clara tried to smile to herself and watched the droplets that rolled freely from each of her eyes as she sighed.

"It's perfect," she cried softly, bowing her head before smiling and turning to the Doctor, who held his hands tightly together at his chest, his jaw working from side to side.

"I used the colors off your boxed cubey organizer thinger," he gestured to the cubicles, "Does it match alright?"

Nodding and turning to lean into the dresser, Clara held the onesie in her hands, laughing and feeling her tears fall again as she looked up to say, "Yes, Doctor, it's beautiful."

He moved towards the crib, hands coming out to land against the railing as Clara watched him and she could see his shoulders tensing as he looked to the window, telling her, "The scenery changes every day. Every day something new through this window." He offered her a tight lipped grin, "Our daughter would always have had the universe at her fingertips – always soothing her to sleep; always running through her dreams. Now she always will, I suppose."

She sighed, moving towards him slowly and she wrapped her arms around him, ducking under his right arm when it came up to drop over her shoulder, pulling her tightly to him. Resting her head against his chest, she nodded and they watched those suns set slowly, silently, and when the room went dark with only the twinkle of starlight through that fake window to illuminate their surroundings, Clara whispered, "She's sleeping out amongst those stars, isn't she?"

"Yes," he responded simply.

Clara released a sorrowful laugh and then raised her head, "Could we visit her then?"

The Doctor kissed her forehead and told her, "Yes, Clara, of course."

They turned away from the room and Clara felt her heart drop as they stepped back over the threshold and the doors closed behind them. She concentrated on the sounds of their footsteps, falling in tandem over the metal flooring of the Tardis and when they reached the console again, she reached out to touch the controls, glancing up at the time rotor as it melted back into its blue hues and she understood the unspoken apology from the machine.

Looking up at the Doctor, Clara bit her lip and when she shifted her gaze back to the controls, it was to lift her left hand to a lever just as the Doctor entered a set of coordinates and when she swung it down, she exhaled raggedly. The one place a time traveler should never visit, he'd once told her, was their own grave… and Clara thought she had understood the dread he'd felt, but she hadn't – not until that moment. She was about to float through her daughter's grave and as they slowed into orbit around the planet, she closed her eyes and turned to land her forehead into the Doctor's chest, doing her best to control the inevitable sobs she was feeling.

Wordlessly, he lead her to the doors and he waited there, feeling her hot breaths against the spot just between his hearts – the spot that felt hollow in that moment, taking Clara to what was left of their child. He hated that his biology necessitated cremation and secrecy about her 'burial' and he whispered that regret to Clara as she summoned the courage to open those doors, because the Doctor wouldn't force her to look on it, not knowing what she knew now.

She pushed off of him lightly, still holding to his shirt with one hand, the onesie held tightly in the other when she finally turned slowly and reached for the door, watching the small bit of fabric as it hung from her clenched hand, the words '_mum_' and '_cup_' visible before it folded. Unlatching the door, she pulled it back with her forefinger and thumb and the Doctor cried when he saw her shoulders drop slightly as she looked out to Faraswara and brought the onesie back to her chest.

Her fingers curled into his shirt and he covered her hand with his, pulling it free to hold and she smiled halfheartedly up at him, new tears falling freely over her cheeks. Clara looked to the onesie as the Doctor came to her side again, enveloping her in his arms and listening to the small sad notes that escaped her as she cried. They looked out on the planet and after a while he began to ask her quietly, "Did you ever wonder…"

"If she would love it like we did?" Clara finished for him on a whisper, shifting her head against his chest to look up at him with an easy grin as she told him, "Yeah, I imagined how much she would have loved the music." Clara lowered her gaze back out to the stars to admit, "First time I knew I felt her, you'd brought out that old phonograph from the Tardis to try and help me relax on the couch after a _really_ _long day_…"

He laughed, "Ah yes, student testing. You'd had enough of that nonsense."

Clara chuckled and gave him a squeeze, "I'd felt these twitches for a few days and I thought it was just muscles doing their muscle thing, but when you played the 'Three Flute Quartets'… _I knew_ it was her." Her hand shifted to her abdomen, "I don't even know if she could hear yet, but I could feel her moving and I thought about how much she would love to listen to the wind in those fields and the music of the waterfalls." Clara looked up at the Doctor and she moped, "I thought maybe she would take her first steps there – _I was sure she would_."

Wrapping his arms around her as she fell into a mess of half-hearted cries, he leaned his chin atop her head and told her softly, "She's walking through these stars, Clara – looking down on those fields every single day and every so often a bit of her will descend to hear that music and float in those fields and swim in those oceans."

The woman he held laughed pathetically and offered, "Doctor, she'd disintegrate in the atmosphere."

Frowning, he scoffed playfully, "_Shut up_, our daughter can do whatever she'd like. I give _permission_," he added with a nod and a smile, waiting as she nodded back, face crumpling under the weight of new tears and he sighed as she gripped his shirt, now quietly crying, calling softly, "Clara?"

Shoulders giving a quick shake, she leaned back to look up at him, mouth trembling as she waited for him to speak and he lifted his palms to her cheeks as she told him quietly, "I know we can't stay here forever," because she knew it was what he was thinking – they had to go home at some point; they had to move on – and it stung at her heart because he was almost imperceptibly nodding at her unspoken thoughts as his eyes reddened.

"I don't want to go any more than you do," he supplied on a whisper, "But Clara, we do nothing for her by watching her grave. We love her and we honor her by walking back into our lives and making it better. We live, Clara," he ended boldly, kissing her forehead as she began to cry, "We live for her, for all of the days she should have had, for all of the possibilities there were." He pulled her close and looked out at the stars, feeling her head turn to do the same as they watched a wave of dust glittering in the sunlight and he repeated solemnly as a promise, "We _live_, Clara, for Ava."


	41. Chapter 41

"I suppose it has gotten easier. Not _easy_, because there isn't a day that goes by that doesn't come to a grinding halt at some moment or another with a thought about her – about how she felt or how I imagined her personality or how I envisioned her in our lives." Clara smiled. "But it's gotten easier."

She picked at the arm of the leather chair and then laid her hand down flat on it, glancing up at the older woman watching her – a UNIT therapist with knowledge of the Doctor; with knowledge of her, staring into Clara in a way that always made her slightly uncomfortable because she was, Clara knew, analyzing her. And she offered another weak smile as the pen came up and the notes went down and Clara sighed. She'd gotten used to that, to knowing every word that came out of her mouth in that room was being picked apart, even as she spoke, and that somewhere there was a file filled with pages of scribbles trying to assess how she _really_ felt.

Smiling warmly up at Clara, the woman asked, "How's the house coming along?"

Clara lifted her chin and tried to sound enthusiastic as she replied, "We furnished the last room this past week. Nothing fancy, just a spare bedroom for visitors. Picked up cornflower blue for the walls, tan rugs and accents, reminds me of a sunny beach in the afternoon actually, which is nice. Calming," Clara nodded, "Peaceful."

"And what of Ava's room?" The woman asked her delicately.

Clara's smile wavered and then it fell and she admitted, "Painted it blue as well."

"A lot of blue in your home now, Clara," she pointed out.

"It's a _delicate_ blue," Clara stated, eyes drifting to the window behind her, "Sort of like a pale winter sky, with white wood paneling – I like blue." She landed both of her palms in her lap and gave her thighs a light tap, "I like blue," she repeated, feeling queasy at the implication of her words.

Smiling, her therapist nodded and told her plainly, "I'm not questioning whether or not you like the color."

Narrowing her eyes playfully, she gestured at the notepad, "You took notes; something about the color. Wagering you're questioning whether I'm literally painting myself into some sort of delayed post-partum depression."

The woman laughed and settled her pen down to ask, "What have you done to Ava's room? Aside from paint it and add the paneling – what is the _function_ of her room? The others, one is your husband's 'man cave' and then you have a guest room, but you haven't told me: what are you using Ava's room for?"

Clara leaned back in the chair and bit her lips together tightly before licking them and letting them fall open to take a small breath after which she admitted, "I'm not using it."

"It's ok to hold onto her, Clara, for a while…"

"But I have to give the room a new _function_," she finished with a nod.

Her therapist stared into her sympathetically and asked, "Do you have plans for the room?"

"Do I have plans _to let Ava go_," Clara corrected, then shrugged, "We've got books, thrown about; I thought about turning the room into a library, or a crafts space?"

The pen came back up and her therapist asked lightly, "Have you given up on having another child?"

Fingers coming together in her lap, twisting into one another in a way that stopped the writing on the pad the other woman held so she could observer her behavior – Clara knew – to balance it against whatever she said, Clara hesitated, a small croak escaping before she inhaled. She smiled, waiting for the grey eyes that came up to meet hers expectantly, and Clara shook her head, "No, we haven't given up on having another child; we simply understand the complexities involved, the likelihood of it occurring." The therapist gave her pen a squeeze as Clara continued, "There's no point in preparing a nursery just yet."

She wrote a few sentences and then leaned back in the chair as Clara watched her fingers fiddling nervously against her skirt and she was already nodding when the woman spoke, saying, "Clara, have _you_ given up on having another child?"

"Have I," she repeated awkwardly, "Have I?" She giggled nervously and shook her head, "No, no I haven't. I want children; I still want children."

"Do you still want _his_ children?"

She laughed, suddenly, and her fingers froze in her lap as she frowned and told the woman blankly, "Of course I still want _his_ children. _I love him_, he's my husband. _What sort of a question is that_?"

Offering a long sigh, the therapist set her pad aside and tilted her head slightly, watching Clara as she tried to hide her offense at the accusation and she smiled, "I have no doubts that you love your husband,_ the way you speak about him_…" she laughed, "But in all honesty, Clara I think you should ask yourself why you so easily defend him while hesitating over what you want for yourself. Do you want children?" The woman nodded, "I believe you do, but I don't believe you're quite convinced you're prepared for them anymore. You've prepared for visitors in your home and locked Ava up in a room aboard the Tardis that you visit – you've admitted yourself – everyday. If you turned her bedroom into a library, would you change the color? Would you paint on the walls? Your friend Martha is expecting; your friend Nina has a toddler – would you create a space inviting for everyone, or would it simply be books?"

"That's what a library is," Clara muttered defiantly.

"Clara," the woman urged.

She frowned, turning away, "Ava is in our home; we're not shutting her out of it. She's on our mantle and in our albums and she's…" she raised a hand to her chest, but it fell away wordlessly as she choked on tears she held back. "I don't know if I could have children and not feel as though I were replacing her. How can I create a room _for a child_ and not have it break my heart every time I walk inside?" and then she let out a frail laugh and nodded to the woman watching her knowingly.

"All of the time we've spent talking, what I know without a doubt is that your heart is filled with love for your husband, your father, and for children – _all_ children. You've told me yourself, your work at the school does wonders to heal your heart and should you conceive a second child, it would be out of love, not as a replacement." The woman leaned back in her chair and her head shook lightly as she grinned, looking over Clara, "It will always break your heart just a tiny bit, knowing what you've lost – you can't avoid that – but you know what you can do? You can think about what you'd want, for another child, _any other child_. Make a library, or a craft space you could share with them and even if it breaks your heart for a moment each time, you keep walking into that room," the woman ended lightly.

"Keep living," Clara whispered.

With a small nod, Clara wiped at the corners of her eyes and settled back into her chair to sniffle as the other woman handed her tissues and picked up the notepad again, tapping her pen lightly instead of writing. Considering her instead of analyzing her and Clara was grateful for that then – the moments when the woman across from her broke past the doctor and became just another woman she could confide in without judgment, but with sympathy.

An hour later she was closing the door on her SUV, smiling at it before making her way towards the front door, through which she could hear the Doctor shouting out in annoyance and she closed her eyes, preparing herself for the mess she might find. Because it was always a mess. Opening the door, she heard a quick, "Osmond, _no_!" before the scraping of nails across the hardwood of the first floor came trampling towards her and she set her purse down to prepare for the oncoming attack.

"Hello," she laughed as the fluffy black Labrador puppy leapt around her feet, assaulting her knees with its large paws. Clara knelt carefully and pushed her hands over its head and body as it licked happily at her, making small whines of adoration until she lifted him fully into her arms to hug, "You'll be too big for this soon, Osmond," she warned him, watching his head tilt slightly before his tongue came out again to try and lap at her face.

"_Get a real dog_, they said; _much better than a robotic one_, they said." The Doctor came stomping down the hall with a shoe in one hand and an odd contraption in the other, both, Clara could see, torn to shreds. "Our lovely dog has decided my belongings are chew toys."

"Doctor," Clara sang, "He's a puppy," and she cradled him against her chest.

"_No_," the Doctor pointed the shoe at her, "He doesn't get to use his adorable puppiness to get out of trouble – he is old enough to start understanding that _daddy's spectral anomaly detector is not a bone_!"

Laughing, Clara stepped closer to the Doctor and watched the anger melt out of his features as she sighed and stepped on tip-toe to press her lips into his, feeling the puppy she held licking at their chins. Slipping back from him, she giggled with him as she cuddled the dog and then set him back down and watched him scamper into the living room where he immediately set himself to the task of gnawing on a red rubber duck that squeaked lightly.

"How was your session?" The Doctor asked, looking to the mangled mess in his right hand with a pout before straightening to wait for her answer.

Clara stepped into the living room, feeling him just behind her, and she dropped onto the sofa, glancing up at the Doctor and seeing the apprehensive stare he was giving her, because normally she easily shared with him little details. Patting the couch, she waited for him to settle his shoe and the detector on the coffee table and he sat beside her, taking her hand in his as she sighed, "Do you think we're ready to have a baby, Doctor?"

He smiled, looking away a moment before offering, "Well, got married, got the travelling, got a house, got a dog, and a plant – or rather, _a living tree _– the latter two we've managed to care for well enough. Think we're quite prepared."

"But is it just another notch on a belt, us having kids?" Clara proposed, shrugging when she felt him staring into her for more.

The Doctor turned and looked her over, smirking when she finally met his eye, and he shook his head, "I want to have whatever life offers, _with you_ – and if that includes, one day, a little girl with your smile and your wit, or a little boy with your pensive stare and your curious questions… Clara, I would be beside myself with joy. But having children isn't a box unchecked on a list; it's an addition to something already wonderful." He lifted her hand to kiss, "What we have, _everything we've had_, and whatever we've got to look forward to in the future – however our path weaves, as long as you're by my side, I am beyond satisfied."

"You're overtly romantic when you want to be," she teased on a ragged laugh.

His hand came up to catch the tear that rolled over her right cheek and Clara looked away sheepishly a moment before she shifted back and inched closer to kiss him. The Doctor wrapped his arms around her and tugged her forward, laughing with her when they fell into the couch and he raised his eyebrows as he smirked. And then he asked quietly, "Do you feel it's another notch?" Then he questioned, "Is it not something you want anymore, Clara? Because if it's not, I'm aligned with your wishes. _Either_ way," he finished on a nod.

Releasing a long sigh as she looked him over, one hand rising to cup his cheek, thumb stroking over the space underneath his eye, she shook her head, "A little girl with your dances and your wonder; a little boy with your clumsiness and your cleverness?" Clara leaned into him, kissing him and then laughing when Osmond gave a yelp of a bark and they both turned to look at the puppy now laying his head on his paws.

"I understand it won't be easy for you," the Doctor told her softly, "That you'll have moments of self-doubt and moments of sadness and moments of guilt – and moments of fear," he tilted his head forward to stress the words, because he knew there would come a point where she'd be terrified of losing a second child before she'd even gotten the chance to hold them. The Doctor caressed her waist and dropped his head back, telling her firmly, "I'll be right here with you, Clara."

She smiled, nodding, and whispering, "We do make a good team."

"We'll be _rubbish_ parents though," he teased, watching her laugh and smiling because he loved hearing her laugh dissolving into giggles as she bowed her head into his chest. "Always letting them stay up past their bedtimes and giving them far too many sugary treats and the _recklessness_…" he continued, listening to her laugh again as she rested her head at his breast to listen to his heartbeats. "Maybe those are the best sort though, you think?"

Clara grinned at the tingle of anticipation that tickled her abdomen and she laid her palm against his chest, feeling for the strong beats of his other heart as she nodded, "Yeah, I think they are."


	42. Chapter 42

Four Years Later

Clara could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she gripped the pregnancy test and dropped the toilet lid to sit on it, staring down at the oval space that would tell her whether or not her entire world were going to change again. Her eyes drifted towards the box, skimming the instructions for a fourth time and when she looked back down at the stick she held, she heard the Doctor approaching, footsteps light against the carpeting in the room. He grabbed hold of the doorway to peer in and tease her, but stopped, locking eyes with her as small grins flicked their lips upward.

"Clara," he breathed and he moved t the hand she held out, grabbing hold of her and climbing onto the toilet lid behind her as she shifted forward.

"Two minutes," she responded lightly. "Minute and thirty really."

He kissed at her neck as she leaned back into his embrace and Clara could feel his heartbeats now, drumming against her as they waited and he finally cut the silence by telling her, "I think little Dave's waking up."

"Don't call him that, you know my dad hates it," Clara hissed, turning to give him an amused grimace.

With a shrug, the Doctor allowed, "You think he'd be pleased with the nickname."

Clara snorted, "That you're calling him that as a veiled insult."

"It's an insult that comes from a place of deep admiration," the Doctor reminded.

"Shush," she replied, mentally counting down the time and knowing any second now the words would begin to filter in. She could feel his palms sliding over her sides, resting at her belly and she smiled at the flutter the motion caused in her heart and then the lettering began to appear and for a moment they both stared at it, waiting until there was no room for doubt, breathing quietly with one another until Clara finally said softly, "I'm pregnant."

The Doctor laughed as she turned to look at him, mouth half open in an excited smile and he clamped his lips onto hers, feeling her shift to kiss him comfortably, right leg drifting over his until her prosthetic struck lightly against the edge of the bathtub beside them and then they parted with a chuckle, foreheads resting against one another. "A baby, Clara," the Doctor breathed.

"A baby," Clara repeated before laughing.

And they both turned at the sound of Osmond's heavy panting that was accompanied by a thump just outside of the bathroom door. Clara smiled down at the little boy there, pushing himself back up to stare at the dog in frustration through his mop of unruly brown hair before he reached for the doorframe and uttered after a yawn, "Mummy, the Tardis is going _dong_ – is that bad?"

The Doctor whispered in her ear, "_Little Dave_ – just like your father, it's uncanny the level of concern _and_ accusation he can…"

"_Shush_," Clara spat at the Doctor before settling the pregnancy test atop the vanity and raising her arms to the boy already stepping inside, "Come here, Milo, everything is just fine."

Lifting him up onto her lap, she smiled down at him and watched him grin shyly back, dark eyes searching hers before laughing at some face the Doctor was making behind her. Milo tilted into Clara, head resting at her collar and he asked lightly, "Why are we on the toilet?"

"_Mummy_," Clara began, "Had to take an important test."

"For school?" The boy asked.

"Nope," Clara responded with a shake of her head. "Milo?" She called, waiting for him to shift to sit up in her lap and stare up at her, "How would you like to be a big brother?"

The boy's eyes widened and he looked down at Clara's arms, wrapped around him, and then he glanced back up at his parents, swallowing roughly to ask them both, "Are we getting another puppy?"

Osmond barked, lying down just outside of the bathroom as the Doctor laughed and shook his head, telling Milo softly, "No, you're getting a baby brother or sister."

Clara laughed because she could see the Doctor's curiosity in the way Milo was now looking at her and she watched it dissolve into the boy's father's adoring smile as he began to nod feverishly, body giving a small bounce atop her legs before he leapt off and began hopping in a circle excitedly. "Could we take them to Faraswara?!"

The Doctor pointed and gave a laugh before gripping Clara's shoulders and responding happily, "Yes, Milo, we could take them there to dance in the tall flowers and lay about lazily to listen to the waterfalls."

"I love the waterfalls," Milo sang, eyes closed and smiling.

"In fact," the Doctor shot, "We should go there now – mummy's not been feeling well and they have the perfect remedy for that, don't they, Milo?"

The boy nodded, hair flopping about as he pointed back and called, "Sandwiches!"

He rushed out of the bathroom and Clara laughed as Osmond leapt up after him, stomping into the room across from theirs, she knew, to dig through a drawer for one of his clip on bowties. The Doctor's hands drifted down to her stomach again and she felt his lips peck at her neck softly, heard his chuckles as she slipped from his grasp and moved into the hallway to look in on the room in which her son was eagerly turning circles trying to get his right arm into a long brown coat, his tongue tucked between his lips, his brow knotted in concentration and she laughed, stopping him to help him before sighing at the room.

They hadn't fixed it for their son straight away. Clara had left it exactly as it had been after she'd made it her library: blue walls accented with newly painted clouds, wooden bookshelves, a soft light couch settled at the center in front of a scraggly white rug her and Martha enjoyed reading to the other woman's newborn daughter on back then. And she could easily recall the day, twenty weeks into a pregnancy that jutted out unquestionably at her midsection, when she'd stood at that room with the scan in her hands and her eyes flooding with tears.

"_I can't make it his room, Doctor, what if_…" she'd begun as he'd drawn her into a tight hug.

"_We'll leave it until you're ready, Clara_," the Doctor had told her soothingly.

She'd pulled back and looked down at her stomach, telling him softly as she cried, "_Milo, your name is Milo, please baby_…" but the request for her boy to live never emerged, lost in a sadness – in a terror – they both knew would come with that scan. Seeing his rounded head and chest, identical to his sister's; being told, definitively, that they were having a son and watching him shift about in black and white as they listened to his strong heartbeats.

Clara smiled as Milo darted off for his shoes, landing on his backside in front of her as she kneeled and offering his feet, one at a time, into her hands so she could laugh at his wiggling toes and watch the way his eyes disappeared in a wide smile he got from his father. He smiled from the moment he was born, emerging quivering from her womb in the middle of the afternoon at thirty eight weeks and three days with a tiny cough before they settled him atop her chest. His tiny lips had parted to reveal his gums and the tip of his tongue as he reached up for her, searching with the unfocused dark grey eyes of an infant.

Milo hopped up and held out his hands to help her stand and he questioned lightly, "Mummy, where is the baby?"

Hands touching her stomach, she exhaled when he lunged forward to hug her, his face barely at her abdomen and he lifted his head, resting his chin there to smirk up at her. She ran her fingers through his thick hair, pushing long bangs off his forehead so they swung over just like his father's and she tilted down to lift him up into her arms, rubbing at his back when he laid his head on her shoulder and hugged her tightly.

They'd brought him home from the hospital and she'd breathed a small sigh of relief as she laid him in his crib for the first time, looking over the small monsters that hung on a mobile over him. She'd decided his room should be colorful, bright and boisterous, just like she knew he'd be. Every kick in her stomach and every roll of his body as she carefully counted down the days to his birth brought a surge to her heart and she'd dreamed of his laugh before she heard it, coming gleefully from his mouth as he'd watched Osmond rolling about on the ground in front of him at three months old.

"_Look at them_," the Doctor had gestured, "_Don't they make quite the pair_."

Her father had shaken his head and called to Clara, "_He's a funny little man, Clara_."

Now he twirled her long hair and whispered in her ear, "Mummy, when is the baby coming?"

"Well," she started as she moved into the Doctor's room, where the Tardis doors stood open and she could see the man already working at the controls, a disassembled tent just behind him, Osmond waiting patiently at his right, "If I'm right, about seven months from now."

Milo moaned, "That sounds like a long time."

With a laugh, Clara turned and nudged the boy's nose with her own and she whispered, "Sorry, sweetie, sometimes things take a long time."

The Doctor grinned at her words and his arm came up without looking, ready to wrap it around his wife and son as the time rotor brightened and Clara laughed when its color began to change. She did that for Clara, whenever she was thinking about Ava, and now it brought her to tears because Milo's laughter slowed as his eyes fell from the center of the Tardis console – glowing a brilliant yellow – to Clara's and he offered a small knowing smile before dropping his head back to her shoulder.

"I had a dream about Ava," he whispered as they landed.

"What did you dream, Milo?" The Doctor asked curiously as they began to walk towards the front doors, stepping through and standing in the gentle breeze blowing a light tune through the air.

Their son often dreamed of his older sister, and her name was the fourth word to grace his lips, behind mumma, dadda, and 'tadee' – the final word screamed each time they neared anything blue and box shaped. He would tug at Clara's hair, or bop his head to hers and he would whisper quietly, "_Ava_," and they knew it meant in his dreams, she looked like Clara. The girl looked like Clara in all of their dreams – and all three had dreamed of the little girl, aging alongside their brother into a five year old who had a thick crop of dark bangs and chestnut hair that hugged her shoulders, Clara's eyes, and round cheeks always tinged red with a slight bit of embarrassment at their adoration of her. Her mother's dimple settled comfortably into the left.

"_Sometimes ghosts linger in different ways_," the Doctor had told Clara when she'd woken from a dream in which the then toddler had snuggled up to her pregnant stomach to babble at her then unborn younger brother. "_I suppose she'll always be a memory that lived on in our minds in a way memories generally don't – responding and growing and loving. Still fighting to hold onto us, Clara, because we've never let her go_."

Clara was calmed by the notion, just as she was calmed by the steady kicks and movements within her and by each breath her son had taken as he'd watched her in the delivery room. "_Hello, Milo_," she'd whispered, and he'd inhaled deeply, closing his eyes with a smile, as though comforted by her welcome.

Taking a long breath now, the boy shifted to sit up on Clara's hip with a look around them to say, "We were talking… _here_."

Plucking the boy from Clara's arms to twirl him through the air as he screamed happily, the Doctor moved further into the field, glancing at Osmond, who remained at Clara's side, giving her a gentle nudge of his nose to her hand. He settled Milo against his stomach and Clara sighed because as insane as both of her boys were, they stilled around one another in the most beautiful way and she thought to the countless nights she'd woken to find the man pacing just beside the bed with their son, telling him softly of a planet he'd love to take him, or some funny tale from his past, or simply how much he loved him.

"_Your mother's eyes, Milo – they're their own universes, peering out from a wondrous mind, a loving heart, and I will always cherish the infinity I see in them and the fact that she's passed those same eyes onto you… I long to see everything through you_…"

Now they stared into each other, fascinated by what they found in each other and Milo told him gently, bowing his head, "She said I had to be good because Matthew is coming."

Clara's hand atop Osmond's head froze as she watched Milo give a small nod and she listened as the boy questioned his father, who shrugged before turning slightly to watch Clara lift her free hand to her stomach and huff a small laugh. Shifting Milo to the ground, the Doctor pulled Clara tightly to him, dropping down to kiss her as their son giggled and she nodded, because as soon as she'd begun to feel the nausea and the exhaustion; as soon as she'd counted the days and began to wonder if she could be pregnant, she began to think about names.

Milo wedged himself between them to ask, "Who's Matthew?"

Looking down at his wide eyes as they waited, Clara laughed and explained, "Milo, Matthew is your baby brother." Her eyes came up to meet the Doctor's as she laughed, feeling Milo pressing a kiss underneath her belly button just before the boy began to whisper inaudibly.

She slipped her arms around the Doctor and smiled into another quick kiss as Osmond barked happily, rushing into the field after the ghost of a girl who, with her father's permission and her mother's spirit, skipped through the tall flowers, humming in tune with the wind. Clara chuckled at the thought as she slipped back from the Doctor and held to him while watching the dog come back for the boy who shouted out and chased him awkwardly, thick hair the only thing visible as they ran in circles around one another.

"What's on your mind?" The Doctor asked her quietly, pecking his lips to her head.

"Darkness," Clara replied before smiling, "For a while I thought I might succumb to it, but Ava is our North Star, our guidance, and she will always be there to light the way however she can, won't she?"

He turned her gently and they laughed together when they saw Milo's head pop up before he waved to them and the Doctor whispered, "I suppose if you're my light and I am yours, it's only natural that our children shine like starlight, eternally."

Clara reached up for the arms that circled her collar and she pulled them apart, slipping her hands into his to bring them down onto her stomach, holding them there as he kissed the scar at her temple. Milo came rushing towards them, Osmond at his heel, and he stopped short, holding two long stalks with several stiff flowers on each and Clara smiled as the boy whispered, "_Matthew, listen to this_," and began to twirl in front of them, the petals cutting the wind in a odd chorus of whistles as the Doctor's thumbs stroked gently at her stomach.

Laughing, Clara watched Milo fall over and squeal as Osmond pounced on him to lick at his face excitedly. The Doctor's hold on her tightened and he sighed into her ear before he began to chuckle with her and Clara swore she could hear, floating over the music of the waterfalls and the melody of the fields, their little girl's laughter, mingling with theirs, defiantly refusing to become a memory, but to remain – as she should be – a part of their family. And Clara took a long satisfied breath as she gazed out over the first twinkling stars in the early evening sky, knowing she always would be.

~End.


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